1 


x» 


POETICAL  TRIBUTES 


MEMORY  OF 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.    B.     LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


IN   GOD    IS   OUR  TRUST. 


•  Peace  to  the  just  man's  memory, — let  it  grow 

Greener  with  years,  and  blossom  through  the  flight 

Of  ages:  let  the  mimic  canvass  show 

His  calm  benevolent  features;  let  the  light 

Stream  on  his  deeds  of  love,  that  shunned  tho  sight 

Of  all  but  Heaven ;    and  in  tho  book  of  fame, 
The  glorious  record  of  his  virtues  write, 

And  hold  it  up  to  men,  and  bid  them  claim 

A  palm  like  his,  and  catch  from  him  the  hallowed  flame." 

(iii) 


INTRODUCTION. 


IN  the  preparation  of  this  volume  it  has  been 
the  purpose  of  the  compilers  to  preserve,  in  perma- 
nent form,  the  spontaneous  tributes  of  esteem  and 
affection  tendered  to  the  memory  of  our  late  beloved 
President  by  the  poetical  writers  of  our  own  and 
other  countries.  It  seems  especially  fitting  that 
the  tender  regard  which  Mr.  Lincoln  had  won  for 
himself  during  the  four  eventful  years  of  his  Presi- 
dency, and  which  has  found  so  many  and  such 
heartfelt  expressions  since  his  untimely  death, 
should  have  a  lasting  record ;  and  both  for  the 
gratification  of  those  who  have  mingled  their  tears 
over  the  remains  of  the  illustrious  dead,  and  as  an 
evidence  to  future  generations  of  how  wise  and 
great  and  good  we  thought  him,  this  volume  is  now 
put  forth. 

PHILADELPHIA,  July  \,  1865. 
1»  (v) 


INDEX. 


PAQl 

ANONYMOUS ...."We*  Ine" 44 

ADAMS,  GEORGE 95 

A ,8. 103 

ANONYMOUS Engliali  Paper 130 

ANONYMOUS "Sic  Semper  Tjrannis " 196 

ANONYMOUS "Gone" 242 

ANONYMOUS Montreal,  Canada 200 

ANCKER,  ADOLPI1 270 

ANONYMOUS 30,  22,  &5,  77,  91,  97,  99, 100, 107, 132, 164, 177, 189, 197 

201,  20<»,  2*  6,  229,  "GO,  269,  270,  278,  282,  284,  '285,  292,  299 

BRYANT,  WM.  CULI.RN 13 

BALLARD,  H.  C 21 

BARNETT,  J.  G 68 

BENSON,  JOHN  8 109 

BENJAMIN,  8.  G.  W 110 

BEALE,  MM.  O.  A.  8 119 

BICKERSTAFF,  Miss  EMMA  II "Columbia's  Lament" 129 

BOYI.AN,  WM 26« 

B ,C.  R 272 

BENNETT,  EMMA  BENTON 277 

CHITTENDEN,  RICHARD  IIEMIY 34 

GARY,  PIKEBE 37 

(Tii) 


viii  INDEX. 

I' Ml 

CARY,  ALICE ..."Inscribed  to  London  Punch".. 

CROMWELL,  RUTH  N -  121 

COOPER,  GEO 124 

C ,  C 1« 

COX,  CHRISTOPHER  C 1*9 

CIST,  L.  J St.  Louis,  Mo 

COLLINS,  JOHN •    159 

/"Ours  the  Cross,  Thine  the  Crown"  |    ,., 
CAMEROJ*,  MRS.  R.  A j  Bnwhear  City,  Texas.  >    l 

CRANCH,  C.  P -  214 

CARRIE, .-  240 

CLARK,  REV.  ALEX ...  257 

COOLBRITII,  1NA  D Sail  Francisco 262 

DUNN,  CALEB 45 

DUGANNE,  A.  J.  H. 59 

DYER,  Rzv. SIDNEY 117 

DORSEY,  DENNIS  B 163 

DEMBY,  ANGELJNE  R ±20 

DENNISON, MARY  A "To  Mrs.  Lincoln" fcS 

D ,8.  J '. ..." 237 

DAVIS,  D.AMBROSE 2*6 

DAWES,  L.  M ! 'MS 

EMISSUS "To  Mrs.  Lincoln" 81 

ETA 85 

EVANS,  ALBERT  S 87 

EVA 87 

EMMA 1S6 

ENOLA 200 

FIELD,  J.  A 79 

FISHER,  JABEZ  M 123 

FAVORITE,   FLORY 162 

FIELD,  J.  G 173 

FAIRFLFXD,  P.  G ,..  .  211 


INDEX.  ix 

PAQ« 

F ,  BELLK. 231 

F ,  L.  W 266 

"FUN,"  FROM  TOE  LONDON 292 

Q ,  JEANIE "De  Profundig" 106 

Q ,C.D 108 

GREENWOOD,  R«v.  T.  J 116 

GERTRUDE 188 

GRIFFIN,  F.  P 280 

GURLEY,  Rxv.  D*.  D.  P 305 

HOWE,  MBS.  JULIA  WARD. 15 

HOOPER,  MM.  LUCY  HAMILTON 25  and  74 

HAYWARD,  J.  HENRY 00 

HALPINE,  CHARLES  G "Miles  O'Reilly" 62 

HOPPER,  Rxv.  EDWARD 64 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL. 73 

HOSMER,  W.  U.  C 7« 

HALL,  MM.  F.  W Seventy  y*«n  of  age 126 

H ,A.B 186 

HARTZ,  MARY  E 223 

HIRST,  HENRY  B 261 

H ,8.8 253 

HALPINE,  M.  G ~ 269 

IOLA 80 

J .  L.H 194 

JOHNSON,  R.  M 266 

KIMBALL,  HARRIET  McEWEN 42 

LAIGHTON,  ALBERT 83 

LEECH,  HARRY  HAREWOOD 138 

LAWSON,  EMILIE Am  Fnuictaco 174 

LOWE,  MARTHA  PERRY 206 

LEAH....  .....New  Orleans ...  249 


X  INDEX. 

PAGE 

L ,  H.  A 264 

LISLE,  CORA 287 

MACKELLAR,  THOMAS 16 

MERREFLELD,  JOSEPH 49 

MORFORD,  HENRY 69 

MUNDAY,  EUGENIE  H "  A  Crime  without  a  Name  " 72 

MORGAN,  GEORGE  G.  W 98 

MANLOVE,  OLIVER  PERRY 102 

McBOYLE,  A 109 

"MAY"  OF  SPARROWBUSH .Thirteen  years  of  age 127 

MARTIN,  G Montreal,  Canada. 153  and  180 

McL ,  J - 213 

MEREDITH,  GULA 250 

MCCAFFREY,  MISS  s.  A 275 

MERCER,  8.  C 295 

MCMILLAN'S  MAGAZINE England 301 

N ,  F.  L 184 

NICHOLS,  KATE  W 204 

NOWELL,  EDWARD  P 271 

NICIIOL,  JOHN London  Spectator 302 

PROCTOR,  EDNA  DEAN 40 

PUNCH,  FROM  THE  LONDON 50 

P ,  E.  B 84 

PRINCE,  REV.  N.  A 104 

P , New  Orleans 131 

PYMN,  HENRY 134 

PEREGRINATOR California lf,2 

PIIELPS,  REV.  DR.  S.  D 200 

PARKER,  B.  S 225 

RAENHART,  GEO.  W 5« 

REMAK,  MRS.  GUSTAVUS 114 

RICHARDSON,  MRS.  M.  T.  G l;57 

RISTINE,  JAMES ...  io« 


INDEX.  xi 

PAGB 

REED,  CHARLES  W 175 

ROSARR,  ELLERTON Montreal, Canada 204 

ROBINSON,  MRS.  J.  T 207 

ROBBINS 234 

R ,  E.V 285 

RADFORD,  BEN.J 243 

RKXFORD,  EBEN  E 246 

STEDM  AN,  EDMUND  C "Sonnet" 17 

8CIIERB,  EMANUEL  VTTALIS 18 

STODDARD,  RICHARD  HENRY...."  An  Horatian  Ode" 27 

SMITH,  EMELINE  SHERMAN 46  and  148 

S .11.  S 106 

STOCKTON,  D.  D.,  R«T.  THOMAS  H 144 

STEWART,  JAMES  M 167 

-.E.V 191 

-,  O.  F 206 

-.  JENNIE  E. 209 

STEBBINS,  MRS.  C.  M 216 

SHIRLEY 233 

ST.  CLAIR,  WINNIFRED. 244 

S ,  E.T ."To  the  Nation" 287 

TUCKERMAN,  HENRY  T. 24 

TAYLOR,  B.  P 93 

TOWNSEND,  GEO.  ALFRED 141 

TAYLOR,  BENJAMIN  FRAN  KLIN.."  The  President'i  Dream  " 267 

UNA 178 

UMBRA. 258 

UPUAM,  NATHAN 288 

V ,  M.V 139 

VANDENHOFF,  GEO "Treason's  Masterpiece" 158 

WILLIS,  RICHARD  STORKS.. 14  and  92 

WOODWORTH,  II 143 

W ,  E.J....  ...  227 


Xll  INDEX. 

PAGE 

WHITE,  JOSEPHINE 230 

WARD,  THOMAS 273 

WHITING,  SAM 274 

WILLIAMS,  MKS.  L.  M 281 

W ,  B.B 288 

WEBB,  C.  H .San  Francisco 298 


POETICAL  TRIBUTES 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


By  WILLIAM  CULLEN   BRYANT. 

Pi     SLOW  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare, 
9     Gentle  and  merciful  and  just! 

Who,  in  the  fear  of  God,  didst  bear 
The  sword  of  power — a  nation's  trust. 

In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand, 
Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 

And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  land 
That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 

Thy  task  is  done — the  bond  are  free; 

We  bear  thee  to  an  honored  grave, 
Whose  noblest  monument  shall  be 

The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 

Pure  was  thy  life;  its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee  with  the  sons  of  light, 

Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Who  perished  in  the  cause  of  right. 
2  13 


14  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  RICHARD  STORRS  WILLIS. 

T)EG-KETFUL  bells  are  tolling, 

•*-*'  With  mournful  knell  profound; 

Unwilling  guns  are  booming, 

With  dull  and  solemn  sound ! 
A  pilgrim  chief  is  passing 
From  'neath  the  nation's  dome, 
To  find  from  life's  sad  labors 
A  resting-place,  at  home  ! 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

For  all  the  worn  and  weary, 

There's  no  place  like  home ! 

And  fevered  hearts  are  throbbing, 
llight  royal  hearts  and  true ! 
And  fitful  tears  are  starting 
From  eyes  where  tears  are  few ! 

That  pilgrim  chief's  a  martyr, 

Who  fell  the  State  to  save! 

The  home  that  he  is  seeking. 

The  martyred  patriot's  grave ! 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home ! 
For  thee,  0  martyred  patriot, 
There's  no  place  like  home ! 

Now  open  wide  thy  portals, 

Thou  proud  and  prairied  West ! 

And  decked  with  Spring's  bright  verdure, 

Take  LINCOLN  to  thy  breast! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  15 

Sing,  birds,  his  Miserere ! 

Ye  grasses,  lightly  wave ' 

And  you,  ye  shades  of  heroes, 

Glide  forth,  and  guard  his  grave ! 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home ! 
Sleep  well,  thou  martyred  chieftain — 
There's  no  place  like  home ! 

The  light  is  breaking  o'er  us, 
And  Treason  sinks  appalled ! 
Arise  !  redeemed  Columbia ! 
Thy  land  is  disenthralled ! 

And  though  the  good  man  perish, 

From  out  his  hallowed  dust 

Forth  springs  a  race  of  heroes, 

To  guard  the  same  high  trust! 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home 
We'll  evermore  defend  it — 
There's  no  place  like  home ! 


By  Mrs.  JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

/^ROWN  his  blood-stained  pillow 
^     With  a  victor's  palm; 
Life's  receding  billow 
Leaves  eternal  calm. 

At  the  feet  Almighty 

Lay  this  gift  sincere; 
Of  a  purpose  weighty, 

And  a  record  clear. 


16  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

With  deliverance  freighted 
Was  this  passive  hand, 

And  this  heart,  high-fated, 
Would  with  love  command. 

:    Let  him  rest  serenely 
In  a  Nation's  care, 
Where  her  waters  queenly 
Make  the  West  most  fair. 

In  the  greenest  meadow 
That  the  prairies  show, 

Let  his  marble's  shadow 
Give  all  men  to  know : 

"  Our  First  Hero,  living, 
Made  his  country  free ; 

Heed  the  Second's  giving, 
Death  for  Liberty." 


By  THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 

QO  deep  our  grief,  it  may  be  silence  is 

^     The  meetest  tribute  to  the  father's  name  : 

A  secret  shrine  in  every  breast  is  his, 

Whom  death  hath  girt  with  an  immortal  fame; 
And  in  this  dim  recess  our  thoughts  abide, 

Clad  in  the  garment  of  unspoken  grief, 
As  fain  the  sorrow  of  the  heart  to  hide 

That  yields  no  tears  to  give  our  wo  relief. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  17 

"  But  death  is  not  'to  such  as  he,"  we  sigh ; 

"  His  heart  is  still — his  pulse  may  beat  no  more ; 
Yet  men  so  good  and  loved  do  never  die; 

But  while  the  tide  shall  flow  upon  the  shore 
Of  time  to  come,  a  presence  to  the  eye 
Of  nations  shall  he  be,  and  evermore 
Shall  freemen  treasure  in  historic  page 
The  martyr-hero  of  earth's  noblest  age." 


SONNET. 

By  EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN. 

"T70RGIVE  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do!" 

-*-    He  said,  and  so  went  shriven  to  his  fate — 
Unknowing  went,  that  generous  heart  and  true. 

Even  while  he  spoke,  the  slayer  lay  in  wait, 

And  when  the  morning  opened  Heaven's  gate, 
There  passed  the  whitest  soul  a  nation  knew. 

Henceforth  all  thoughts  of  pardon  are  too  late; 
They,,  in  whose  cause  that  arm  its  weapon  drew, 

Have  murdered  MERCY.     Now  alone  shall  stand 
Blind  JUSTICE,  with  the  sword  unsheathed  she  wore. 

Hark,  from  the  Eastern  to  the  Western  strand, 
The  swelling  thunder  of  the  people's  roar : 

What  words  they  murmur — FETTER  NOT  HER  HAND  ! 

So   LET   IT   SMITE;    SUCH   DEEDS   SHALL   BE   NO    MORE! 

2  * 


18  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  EMMANUEL  VITALIS  SCHERB. 


0' 


woe !  oli  woe !  oh  woe ! 
What  awful  sudden  blow 
Has  changed  to  funeral  moans  our  songs  of  exultation ! 

But  yesterday  so  bright, 

To-day  in  darkest  night 
Are  quenched  the  blazing  lights  of  joy's  illumination. 

We  stagger  to  and  fro, 

Ourselves  struck  by  the  blow 
Of  this  most  vile,  most  foul,  most  fell  assassination. 

The  truth  to  credit  slow, 

We  ask :   Can  it  be  so  ? 

Is  he  indeed  laid  low, 
The  ruler  wise,  and  firm,  and  faithful,  of  this  nation  ? 

Oh  grievous,  grievous  loss ! 

Oh  heavy,  heavy  cross ! 
This  orphaned  nation's  heart  is  tottering,  reeling  under  ! 

From  a  smiling  azure  sky, 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
Down  crashed  the  fearful  bolt  that  cleft  our  Head  asunder. 

Alas !  now  prostrate  lies 

That  chief  so  calm  and  wise, 
Alike  for  goodness  famed,  for  strength  and  moderation ; 

With  eyes  that  tears  bedim, 

With  hearts  full  to  the  brim, 

We  lose,  we  mourn  in  him, 
Alike  with  Washington,  a  Father  of  this  Nation. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  19 

Oh  horrid,  horrid  crime, 

Bred  in  the  foulest  slime 
Of  Slavery's  loathsome  pool,  all  rotting  with  stagnation  ! 

Oh  dastard,  dastard  crime, 

Unheard  of  in  this  clime, 
Where  men  wage  open  tear,  but  scorn  assassination. 

Oh  senseless,  senseless  crime, 

Committed  at  a  time 
Of  reawakening  hopes  of  peace  and  conciliation ! 

Alas!  what  dost  thou  gain? 

In  fury  blind,  insane, 

The  mild  one  thou  hast  slain. 

A  sterner  now  will  reign, 

And  thou  hast  roused  again 
The  slumbering  thunderbolts  of  Wrath's  retaliation. 

But,  nation  deeply  bowed, 

Be  all  thy  grief  allowed, 
Allowed  be  too  thy  wrath,  thy  righteous  indignation  ! 

But,  like  thy  martyred  chief, 

Temper  thy  wrath  and  grief 
With  noble  self-control  and  generous  moderation. 

Be  just  I  give  each  his  due, 

Let  those  be  slain  who  slew, 
Be  blood  for  blood  the  fair  and  lawful  reparation ! 

But,  Justice  satisfied, 

Let  Wisdom  be  thy  guide, 

Keep  Mercy  at  thy  side, 
Finish  thy  sacred  task,  our   Union's  restoration! 

Then  from  the  firmament 
Will  he  whom  we  lament, 


20  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Our  nation's  martyred  saint, 
Wearing  a  golden  crown, 
Benignantly  look  down, 
And  let  his  blessing  rest  for  aye  upon  his  nation. 


ANONYMOUS. 

p  RIEF-PIERCED  unto  her  great  heart's  core, 

^    Bowed  to  the  dust  and  stricken  sore. 

The  Nation  leaves  her  task  undone 

To  weep  in  anguish  o'er  a  son 

Whom  she  shall  see  no  more,  no  more. 

Proudly,  a  few  short  hours  before, 

Exulting  in  her  joy,  she  bore 

Aloft  her  starry  flag — her  brow 

Aglow  with  victory :  and  now 

She  sits  and  moans,  "  No  more !  no  more !" 

No  vengeance  on  the  wretch  who  tore 
Her  loved  one  from  her,  can  restore 
The  life  she  prized — though  wrathful,  grim, 
She  seize  and  rend  him  limb  from  limb — 
The  lost  returns  no  more,  no  more ! 

Too  just  to  wrong,  too  meek  to  soar, 
His  heart  was  of  the  sterling  ore : 
Not  proudly  strong,  but  grandly  pure. 
He  saw  his  crowning  work  mature 
In  triumph;  then — no  more,  no  more. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  21 

Honored  in  life,  in  death  lie  wore 
The  crown  of  martyrdom,  and  o'er 
The  witness  of  his  life  there  glows 
The  lurid  grandeur  of  its  close, 
To  light  the  ages  evermore. 


By  H.  C.   BALLARD. 

TTTHY,  why,  0  God!  this  sorrow  sent, 
This  grief  that  fills  the  continent  ? 
Why  droops  our  noble  flag  to-day? 
All  hearts  feel  sadness  and  dismay — 
For  he  who  held  with  faithful  hand 
The  welfare  of  this  mighty  land, 
Rests  now  in  death's  heroic  sleep, 
While  gloom  prevails  and  millions  weep. 

Oh !  grief  no  human  tongue  can  tell — 
As  if  God's  fearful  judgment-hell 
From  out  the  midnight  sky  had  hurled 
His  wrath  upon  a  sleeping  world! 
We  tremble  that  this  act  of  crime 
Should  stain  the  annals  of  our  time — 
That  one  should  live  whose  guilty  hand 
Could  smite  the  saviour  of  our  land ! 

How  sudden  fell  the  cruel  blow 
That  laid  our  noble  leader  low — 
Our  hearts  were  full  of  blissful  cheer, 
We  saw  the  dawn  of  peace  draw  near ! 


22  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

We  prayed  that  he  whose  honest  hand 
Had  toiled  to  save  this  free-born  laud, 
Might  live  to  bear  the  honors  won 
From  duty  well  and  nobly  done. 

Know  ye,  who  nerved  the  bloody  hand 
That  fills  with  gloom  our  native  land, 
That  he  who  rests  in  death's  embrace 
Looked  kindly  on  your  guilty  race ! 
Now  may  the  godless  traitors  feel 
How  deep  can  go  the  freeman's  steel ! 
Let  mercy  lose  its  gentle  power, 
And  God's  stern  justice  rule  the  hour! 

Though  dead,  he  lives  in  endless  fame — 

All  honor  to  his  patriot  name; 

All  glory,  for  his  loyal  hand 

Gave  freedom  to  our  mountain  land ! 

That  priceless  boon  shall  ever  be 

The  pride  and  glory  of  the  free; 

And  LINCOLN'S  fame  grow  brighter  yet, 

Till  Time's  remotest  sun  shall  set. 


ANONYMOUS. 


A  CROSS  the  heights  of  future  time, 
•*•  To  all  true  men  of  every  clime 
One  name  will  swell,  a  sound  sublime. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  23 

Our  children,  'neath  a  prosperous  sun, 
Peace,  Law,  and  Right  all  blent  in  one, 
Will  own  his  glorious  mission  done — 

Will  say,  true    hearts  speak  out  who  can. 
There  rose  a  cry,  God  shaped  his  plan; 
He  ruled  events,  he  sent  the  man. 

A  man  who  held  the  Nation's  trust; 

Pure  gold,  where  much  was  dross  and  dust. 

No  tears  above  his  honored  dust. 

Our  heart  this  shining  memory  wears 
To  bliss-like  deep,  unspoken  prayers, 
To  make  us  strong  'midst  daily  cares. 

He  said  to  every  slave,  "  Go  free ! 

To  God — no  other — bend  the  knee; 

His  glorious  bidding  speaks  through  me." 

No  selfish  thought,  no  blinding  pride ; 
His  vision  clear,  his  soul  stood  wide 
To  God,  and  all  the  world  beside! 

Triumphant  will  their  voices  ring! 
Glad  tribute  to  his  truth  we  bring! 
Speak,  men,  his  praise !  ye  poets,  sing ! 

Ah  me!  with  trembling  voice  instead, 
With  sorrowing  hearts,  with  drooping  head, 
We  cry,  "  Our  Martyr  Friend  is  dead !" 


24  POETICAL    TRIBUTES  TO   THE 


By  HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 

OHROUD  the  Banner!  rear  the  Cross! 
^  Consecrate  a  Nation's  loss; 
Gaze  on  that  majestic  sleep, 
Stand  beside  the  bier  to  weep; 
Lay  the  gentle  son  of  toil 
Proudly  in  his  native  soil ; 
Crowned  with  honor,  to  his  rest 
Bear  the  Prophet  of  the  West ! 

How  cold  the  brow  that  yet  doth  wear 
The  impress  of  a  Nation's  care; 
How  still  the  heart  whose  every  beat 
Glowed  with  compassion's  sacred  -heat; 
Rigid  the  lips  whose  patient  smile 
Duty's  stern  task  would  oft  beguile; 
Blood-quenched  the  pensive  eye's  soft  light, 
Nerveless  the  hand  so  loath  to  smite, 
So  meek  in  rule,  it  leads,  though  dead, 
The  People  as  in  life  it  led. 

0 !  let  his  wise  and  guileless  sway 
Win  every  recreant  to-day, 
And  sorrow's  vast  and  holy  wave 
Blend  all  our  hearts  around  his  grave ! 
Let  the  faithful  bondsmen's  tears, 
Let  the  traitor's  craven  fears, 
And  the  people's  grief  and  pride 
Plead  against  the  parricide ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  "25 

Let  us  throng  to  pledge  and  pray 
O'er  the  patriot-martyr's  clay; 
Then  with  solemn  faith    in   right, 
That  made  him  victor  in  the  fight, 
Cling  to  the  path  he  fearless  trod, 
Still  radiant  with  the  smile  of  God. 

Shroud  the  Banner !  rear  the  Cross ! 
Consecrate  a  Nation's  loss! 
Graze  on  that  majestic  sleep, 
Stand  heside  the  bier  to  weep; 
Lay  the  gentle  son  of  toil 
Proudly  in  his  native  soil; 
Crowned  with  honor,  to  his  rest 
Bear  the  Prophet  of  the  West ! 


By  Mrs.  LUCY  HAMILTON  HOOPER. 

is  a  shadow  on  the  sunny  air, 
-*-      There  is  a  darkness  o'er  the  April  day, 
We  bow  our  heads  beneath  this  awful  cloud 
So  sudden  come,  and  not  to  pass  away. 

O  the  wild  grief  that  sweeps  across  our  land 
From  frozen  Maine  to  California!!  shore ! 

A  people's  tears,  an  orphaned  nation's  wail, 
For  him  the  good,  the  great,  who  is  no  more. 

The  noblest  brain  that  ever  toiled  for  man, 
The  kindest  heart  that  ever  thrilled  a  breast, 

The  lofty  soul  unstained  by  soil  of  earth, 
Sent  by  a  traitor  to  a  martyr's  rest. 

3  U 


26  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 

And  his  last  act  (0  gentle,  kindly  heart !) 
The  noble  prompting  of  unselfish  grace. 

He  would  not  disappoint  the  waiting  crowd 
Who  came  to  gaze  upon  his  honored  face. 

0  God,  thy  ways  are  just,  and  yet  we  find 

This  dispensation  hard  to  understand 
Why  must  our  Prophet's  weary  feet  be  stay'd 

Upon  the  borders  of  the  Promised  Land  ? 

He  bore  the  heat,  the  burden  of  the  day. 

The  golden  eventide  he  shall  not  see; 
He  shall  not  see  the  old  flag  wave  again 

Over  a  land  united,  saved,  and  free. 

He  loved  his  people,  and  he  ever  lent 
.    To  all  our  griefs  a  sympathizing  ear; 
Now  for  the  first  time  in  these  four  sad  years 
The  stricken  nation  wails — he  does  not  hear. 

0  never  wept  a  land  a  nobler  Chief! 

Kind  heart,  strong  hand,  true  soul — yet  while  we  weep, 
Let  us  remember,  e'en  amid  our  tears, 

'Tis  God  who  gives  to  his  beloved  sleep. 

So  sleeps  he  now,  the  chosen  man  of  God, 

No  more  shall  care  or  sorrow  wring  his  breast; 

The  weary  one  and  heavy-laden,  lies 

Hushed  by  the  voice  of  God  to  endless  rest. 

We  need  no  solemn  knell,  no  tolling  bells, 
No  chanted  dirge,  no  vain  words  sadly  said. 

The  saddest  knell  that  ever  stirred  the  air 

Rang  in  those  words,  "Our  President  is  dead!" 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  27 


AN   HOKATIAN   ODE. 

By  RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARO. 
By  Special  Permission  of  the  Publishers,   Messrs.   Bunce  &  Huntingdon. 

VTOT  as  when  some  great  captain  falls 
-*•     In  battle,  where  his  country  calls, 
Beyond  the  struggling  lines 
That  push  his  dread  designs 

To  doom,  by  some  stray  ball  struck  dead : 
Or,  in  the  last  charge,  at  the  head 
Of  his  determined  men, 
Who  must  be  victors  then ! 

Nor  as  when  sink  the  civic  great, 

The  safer  pillars  of  the  State, 

Whose  calm,  mature,  wise  words 
Suppress  the  need  of  swords ! — 

With  no  "such  tears  as  e'er  were  shed 

Above  the  noblest  of  our  dead 
Do  we  to-day  deplore 
The  man  that  is  no  more ! 

Our  sorrow  hath  a  wider  scope, 
Too  strange  for  fear,  too  vast  for  hope, — 
A  wonder,  blind  and  dumb, 
That  waits — what  is  to  come ! 


28  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Not  more  astounded  had  we  been 
If  madness,  that  dark  night,  unseen, 
Had  in  our  chambers  crept, 
And  murdered  while  we  slept ! 

We  woke  to  find  a  mourning  earth — 
Our  Lares  shivered  on  the  hearth, — 
The  roof-tree  fallen, — all 
That  could  affright,  appall ! 

Such  thunderbolts,  in  other  lands, 
Have  smitten  the  rod  from  royal  hands, 
But  spared,  with  us,  till  now, 
Each  laurelled  Cesar's  brow ! 

No  Cesar  he,  whom  we  lament, 

A  man  without  a  precedent, 

Sent  it  would  seem,  to  do 
His  work — and  perish  too ! 

Not  by  the  weary  cares  of  state, 
The  endless  tasks,  which  will  not  wait, 
Which,  often  done  in  vain, 
Must  yet  be  done  again  : 

Not  in  the  dark,  wild  tide  of  war, 
Which  rose  so  high,  and  rolled  so  far, 

Sweeping  from  sea  to  sea 

In  awful  anarchy : — 

Four  fateful  years  of  mortal  strife, 
Which  slowly  drained  the  nation's  life, 
(Yet,  for  each  drop  that  ran 
There  sprang  an  armed  man !) 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Not  then; — but  when  by  measures  meet, — 

By  victory,  and  by  defeat, — 

By  courage,  patience,  skill, 
The  people's  fixed  "We  will!" 

Had  pierced,  had  crushed  rebellion  dead, — 
Without  a  hand,  without  a  head : — 

At  last,  when  all  was  well, 

He  fell— 0,  how  he  fell! 

The  time, — the  place, — the  stealing  shape, — 
The  coward  shot, — the  swift  escape, — 

The  wife — the  widow's  scream, — 

It  is  a  hideous  dream ! 

A  dream? — what  means  this  pageant,  then? 

These  multitudes  of  solemn  men, 

Who  speak  not  when  they  meet, 
But  throng  the  silent  street? 

The  flags  half-mast,  that  late  so  high 

Flaunted  at  each  new  victory? 

(The  stars  no  brightness  shed, 
But  bloody  looks  the  red!) 

The  black  festoons  that  stretch  for  miles, 
And  turn  the  streets  to  funeral  aisles  ? 
(No  house  too  poor  to  show 
The  nation's  badge  of  woe !) 

The  cannon's  sudden,  sullen  boom, — 
The  bells  that  toll  of  death  and  doom, — 
The  rolling  of  the  drums, — 
The  dreadful  car  that  comes? 
3  * 


30  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Cursed  be  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot! 

The  frenzied  brain  that  hatched  the  plot! 
Thy  country's  father  slain 
By  thee,  thou  worse  than  Cain ! 

Tyrants  have  fallen  by  such  as  thou, 
And  good  hath  followed — may  it  now! 
(God  lets  bad  instruments 
Produce  the  best  events.) 

But  he,  the  man  we  mourn  to-day, 
No  tyrant  was:  so  mild  a  sway 

In  one  such  weight  who  bore 
Was  never  known  before ! 

Cool  should  he  be,  of  balanced  powers, 
The    ruler  of  a   race  like  ours, 

Impatient,  headstrong,  wild, — 
The  man  to  guide  the  child ! 

And  this  he  was,  who  most  unfit 
(So  hard  the  sense  of  God  to  hit!) 

Did  seem  to  fill  his  place. 

With  such  a  homely  face, — 

Such  rustic  manners, — speech  uncouth, — 
(That  somehow  blundered  out  the  truth  !) 
Untried,  untrained  to  bear 
The  more  than  kingly  care ! 

Ay !     And  his  genius  put  to  scorn 
The  proudest  in  the  purple  born, 
Whose  wisdom  never  grew 
To  what,  untaught,  he  knew — 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  31 

The  people,  of  whom  he  was  one. 

No  gentleman  like  Washington, — 

(Whose  bones,  methinks,  make  room, 
To  have  him  in  their  tomb!) 

A  laboring  man,  with  horny  hands, 
Who  swung  the  axe,  who  tilled  his  lands, 

Who  shrank  from  nothing  new, 

But  did  as  poor  men  do! 

One  of  the  people !     Born  to  be 

Their  curious  epitome; 

To  share,  yet  rise  above 
Their  shifting  hate  and  love. 

Common  his  mind  (it  seemed  so  then), 
His  thoughts  the  thoughts  of  other  men : 

Plain  were  his  words,  and  poor — 

But  now  they  will  endure ! 

No  hasty  fool,  of  stubborn  will, 
But  prudent,  cautious,  pliant,  still; 

Who,  since  his  work  was  good, 

Would  do  it,  as  he  could. 

Doubting,  was  not  ashamed  to  doubt, 
And,  lacking  prescience,  went  without : 
Often  appeared  to  halt, 
And  was,  of  course,  at  fault: 

Heard  all  opinions,  nothing  loth, 
And  loving  both  sides,  angered  both : 

Was — not  like  justice,  blind, 

But  watchful,  clement,  kind. 


32  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

No  hero,  this,  of  Roman  mould; 

Nor  like  our  stately  sires  of  old : 
Perhaps  he  was  not  great — 
But  he  preserved  the  State! 

0  honest  face,  which  all  men  knew ! 

0  tender  heart,  but  known  to  few ! 
0  wonder  of  the  age, 
Cut  off  by  tragic  rage ! 

Peace !     Let  the  long  procession  couie, 
For  hark ! — the  mournful,  muffled  drum— 
The  trumpet's  wail  afar, — 
And  see !  the  awful  car ! 

Peace !     Let  the  sad  procession  go, 
While  cannon  boom,  and  bells  toll  slow: 
And  go,  thou  sacred  car, 
Bearing  our  woe  afar ! 

Go,  darkly  borne,  from  State  to  State, 
Whose  loyal,  sorrowing  cities  wait 
To  honor  all  they  can 
The  dust  of  that  good  man  ! 

Go,  grandly  borne,  with  such  a  train 
As  greatest  kings  might  die  to  gain  : 
The  just,  the  wise,  the  brave 
Attend  thee  to  the  grave ! 

And  you,  the  soldiers  of  our  wars, 
Bronzed  veterans,  grim  with  noble  scars, 
Salute  him  once  again, 
Your  late  commander — slain  ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  33 

Yes,  let  your  tears,  indignant,  fall, 
But  leave  your  muskets  on  the  wall : 
Your  country  needs  you  now 
Beside  the  forge,  the  plough ! 

(When  justice  shall  unsheathe  her  brand, — 
If  mercy  may  not  stay  her  hand, 

Nor  would  we  have  it  so — 

She  must  direct  the  blow !) 

And  you,  amid  the  master-race, 
Who  seem  so  strangely  out  of  place, 

Know  ye  who  cometh?     He 

Who  hath  declared  ye  free ! 

Bow  while  the  body  passes — nay, 
Fall  on  your  knees,  and  weep,  and  pray ! 
Weep,  weep — I  would  ye  might — 
Your  poor,  black  faces  white ! 

And,  children,  you  must  come  in  bands, 
With  garlands  in  your  little  hands, 

Of  blue,  and  white,  and  red, 

To  strew  before  the  dead ! 

So,  sweetly,  sadly,  sternly  goes 
The  fallen  to  his  last  repose : 

Beneath  no  mighty  dome, 

But  in  his  modest  home; 

The  churchyard  where  his  children  r<->t. 

The  quiet  spot  that  suits  him  best: 

There  shall  his  grave  be  made, 
And  there  his  bones  be  laid ! 


34  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

And  there  his  countrymen  shall  come, 
With  memory  proud,  with  pity  dumb, 
And  strangers  far  and  near, 
For  many  and  many    a  year ! 

For  many  a  year,  and  many  an  age, 
While  history  on  her  ample  page 
The  virtues  shall  enroll 
Of  that  paternal  soul ! 


By  RICHARD  H.  CHITTENDEN. 

A  LAS !  what  mean  these  sights  and  sounds  of  woe ! 
•*-*-  The  sable  drapery  and  tolling  bell ! 
Men  mutely  gazing  at  each  other  on 
The  street,  with  lips  compressed  and  firm  set  teeth 
And  faces  pale  with  speechless  rage  and  fear, 
And  horror  inexpressible  !     How  changed  ! 
But  yesterday,  and  every  mast  and  spire 
Put  forth  our  glorious  banner  to  the  breeze 
And  blossomed  in  the  sun  of  victory ! 
What  fatal  frost  in  one  short  night,  this  blight 
Hath  wrought!     Hast  heard  it  not?     Lincoln  is  dead! 
Assassinated  at  the  Capital ! 
By  Treason,  slain  in  triumph's  supreme  hour ! 
Ah,  what  a  plunge  from  loftiest  height  of  joy 
Deep  down  into  this  dark  abyss  of  grief! 
Then  weep,  strong  man,  be  not  ashamed  of  tears ! 
Weep,  gentle  woman,  for  his  honest  heart, 
So  kind  and  true,  is  silent  evermore ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  35 

Earth  seems  to  mourn,  and  Heaven  in  tearful  showers 

Laments  the  fall  of  Freedom's  noblest  son; 

This  day  was  slain  our  Lord  to  save  a  world  !* 

And  thou  art  slain  a  nation's  sacrifice ! 

Columbia,  lay  aside  thy  festal  robes 

And  hide  thy  tears  in  woe's  habiliments ! 

The  laurel  to  the  cypress  yield;  the  song 

Of  victory,  to  the  tearful  dirge :  0  God !  . 

Why  must  thy  chosen  ones  be  martyrs  still ! 

Freedom's  Messiah  whom  we  late  have  learned 
To  know  and  love,  could'st  thou  no  longer  spare  ? 
Whom  thou,  like  David,  for  thy  work,  didst  call 
To  grapple  with  our  giant  foe!  obscure, 
Unknown,  our  champion  came,  and  little  skilled 
In  sophistry,  but  yet  in  honesty 
Invincible  !     He  fought  and  victor  died ! 
Hast  thou  not  set  upon  his  head  the  crown 
Of  martyrdom  lest  some  untoward  step 
The  lustre  of  his  spotless  fame  might  dim  ? 
'Tis  well !     Lest  treason  might  not  die,  he  died ! 
Your  only  hope  ye've  slain,  Confederates; 
Now  shall  ye  drink  the  dregs  of  penalty ! 
Our  martyr  head;  our  Moses,  who  hast  led 
This  undeserving  people  safely  through 
The  wilderness  of  war  unto  the  promised  land 
Of  peace !     Thank  God  thou  wert  not  sooner  called ! 
That  thou,  like  Israel's  chief  on  Nebo's  top, 
Didst  live  to  see  the  old  flag  floating  from 
Proud  Richmond's  towers;  the  dawning  of  the  day! 

•  Good  Friday. 


36  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

And  Slavery's  ranks  in  terror  melt  away 

Before  the  charge  of  Freedom's  gallant  sons. 

Immortal  infamy  is  won,  foul  fiend ! 

For  hell,  astounded  at  this  damned  crime, 

Nor  name  for  it,  nor  place  for  thee  can  find. 

Go,  wander  up  and  down !     Cain's  mark  is  thine ! 

Escape,  if  from  thyself  thou  canst  escape ! 

A  million  argus  eyes  are  on  thee,  and 

A  million  swords  shall  from  their  scabbards  leap 

To  rid  the  Earth  of  those  who  thee  defend; 

Preach,  minions,  if  ye  dare,  apology 

For  treason  unto  loyal  ears;  your  day 

Is  past;  the  lion  of  the  North  is  roused; 

And  since  ye  proudly  scorned  mercy's  hand. 

And  as  that  gentle  hand  its  boon  held  forth, 

Struck  down  at  once  the  giver  and  the  gift, 

So  shall  ye  die;  for  where  he  fell  stands  one 

Who  will  avenge  him ;  one  who  calls  crime,  crime ; 

Nor  weakly  counts  him  less  a  murderer,  who 

Ten  thousand  kills  God's  image  to  enslave, 

Than  he  who  in  his  quarrel  slays  but  one ! 

The  blood  of  twice  one  hundred  thousand  braves 

From  gory  battle  fields  and  graves  unknown, 

And  thousands  more,  whom  God  in  mercy  took 

From  prison  pens  and  dire  starvation,  to 

The  assembly  of  the  heroic  dead  above, 

And  unborn  heirs  of  Lincoln's  deathless  name, 

And  outraged  Justice  in  her  thunder  tones, 

Cry  vengeance,  vengeance  on  those  parricides ! 

Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  God; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  37 

But  are  not  men  his  chosen  instruments? 

No  longer  miscreants  our  land  pollute ! 

But  straightway  take  your  bloody  stains  to  Him, 

Whose  just  omnipotence  perchance  may  find 

A  punishment  to  match  your  infinite  guilt! 

Lincoln !  nor  marble  shaft,  nor  storied  urn 

We  need  thy  memory  to  perpetuate ! 

Thy  name  on  every  loyal  heart's  engraved ! 

Thy  monument  shall  be  thy  country  saved, 

Thy  epitaph :  Here  lies  an  honest  man. 


By  PHCEBE  GARY. 

sun  hath  gone  down  at  the  noonday, 
The  heavens  are  black; 
And  over  the  morning  the  shadows 
Of  night-time  are  back. 

Stop  the  proud  boasting  mouth  of  the  cannon, 
Hush  the  mirth  and  the  shout; — 

God  is  God !  and  the  ways  of  Jehovah 
Are  past  finding  out. 

Lo!  the  beautiful  feet  on  the  mountains, 

That  yesterday  stood; 
The  white  feet  that  came  with  glad  tidings, 

Are  dabbled  in  blood. 

The  Nation  that  firmly  was  settling 
The  crown  on  her  head, 

4 


38  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Sits,  like  Rizpah,  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. 
And  watches  her  dead. 

Who  is  dead?  who,  unmoved  by  our  wailing, 

Is  lying  so  low  ? 
0,  my  Land,  stricken  dumb  in  your  anguish, 

Do  you  feel,  do  you  know, 

That  the  hand  which  reached  out  of  the  darkness 

Hath  taken  the  whole  ? 
Yea,  the  arm  and  the  head  of  the  people — 

The  heart  and  the  soul ! 

And  that  heart,  o'er  whose  dread  awful  silenco 

A  nation  has  wept; 
Was  the  truest,  and  gentlest,  and  sweetest, 

A  man  ever  kept! 

Once  this  good  man,  we  mourn,  overwearied. 

Worn,  anxious,  oppressed, 
Was  going  out  from  his  audience  chamber 

For  a  season  to  rest; 

Unheeding  the  thousands  who  waited 

To  honor  and  greet, 
When  the  cry  of  a  child  smote  upon  him, 

And  turned  back  his  feet. 

"  Three  days  hath  a  woman  been  waiting," 

Said  they,  "  patient  and  meek." 
And  he  answered,  iC  Whatever  her  errand. 
Let  me  hear ;  let  her  speak  !" 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  39 

So  she  caine,  and  stood  trembling  before  him, 

And  pleaded  her  cause ; 
Told  him  all;  how  her  child's  erring  father 

Had  broken  the  laws. 

Humbly  spake  she :  "  I  mourn  for  his  folly, 

His  weakness,  his  fall;" 
Proudly  spake  she :  "  he  is  not  a  TRAITOR, 

And  I  love  him  through  all !" 

Then  the  great  man,  whose  heart  had  been  shaken 

By  a  little  babe's  cry; 
Answered  soft,  taking  counsel  of  mercy, 
"This  man  shall  not  die!" 

Why,  he  heard  from  the  dungeons,  the  rice-fields, 

The  dark  holds  of  ships; 
Every  faint,  feeble  cry  which  oppression 

Smothered  down  on  men's  lips. 

In  her  furnace,  the  centuries  had  welded 

Their  fetter  and  chain  ; 
And  like  withes,  in  the  hands  of  his  purpose, 

He  snapped  them  in  twain. 

Who  can  be  what  he  was  to  the  people; 

What  he  was  to  the  State? 
Shall  the  ages  bring  to  us  another 

As  good,  and  as  great? 

Our  hearts  with  their  anguish  are  broken, 
Our  wet  eyes  are  dim; 


V 

40  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


For  us  is  the  loss  and  the  sorrow, 
The  triumph  for  him ! 

For,  ere  this,  face  to  face  with  his  Father 

Our  Martyr  hath  stood; 
Giving  into  his  hand  the  white  record, 

With  its  great  seal  of  blood ! 


By    EDNA    DEAN    PROCTOR. 

"VTOW  must  the  storied  Potomac 
-^      Laurels  for  ever  divide, 
Now  to  the  Sangamon  fameless 

Give  of  its  century's  pride. 
Sangamon,  stream  of  the  prairies, 

Placidly  westward  that  flows, 
Far  in  whose  city  of  silence 

Calm  he  has  sought  his  repose. 
Over  our  Washington's  river 

Sunrise  beams  rosy  and  fair, 
Sunset  on  Sangamon  fairer — 

Father  and  martyr  lies  there. 

Kings  under  pyramids  slumber, 

Sealed  in  the  Lybian  sands; 
Princes  in  gorgeous  cathedrals 

Decked  with  the  spoil  of  the  lands. 
Kinglier,  princelier  sleeps  he 

Couched  'mid  the  prairies  serene, 
Only  the  turf  and  the  willow 

Him  and  God's  heaven  between ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  41 

Temple  nor  column  to  cumber 

Verdure  and  bloom  of  the  sod — 
So,  in  the  vale  by  Beth-peor, 

Moses  was  buried  of  God. 

Break  into  blossom,  0  prairies! 

Snowy  and  golden  and  red; 
Peers  of  the  Palestine  lilies 

Heap  for  your  glorious  dead! 
Hoses  as  fair  as  of  Sharon, 

Branches  as  stately  as  palm, 
Odors  as  rich  as  the  spices — 

Cassia  and  aloes  and  balm — 
Mary  the  loved  and  Salome, 

All  with  a  gracious  accord, 
Ere  the  first  glow  of  the  morning 

Brought  to  the  tomb  of  the  Lord 

Wind  of  the  West !  breathe  around  him 

Soft  as  the  saddened  air's  sigh 
When  to  the  summit  of  Pisgah 

Moses  had  journeyed  to  die. 
Clear  as  its  anthem  that  floated 

Wide  o'er  the  Moabite  plain, 
Low  with  the  wail  of  the  people 

Blending  its  burdened  refrain. 
Rarer,  0  Wind !  and  diviner, — 

Sweet  as  the  breeze  that  went  by 
When,  over  Olivet's  mountain, 

Jesus  was  lost  in  the  sky. 


42  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Not  for  thy  sheaves  nor  savannas 

Crown  we*  thee,  proud  Illinois ! 
Here  in  his  grave  is  thy  grandeur; 

Born  of  his  sorrow  thy  joy. 
Only  the  tomb  by  Mount  Zion 

Hewn  for  the  Lord  do  we  hold 
Dearer  than  his  in  thy  prairies, 

Girdled  with  harvests  of  gold. 
Still  for  the  world,  through  the  ages 

Wreathing  with  glory  his  brow, 
He  shall  be  Liberty's  Saviour — 

Freedom's  Jerusalem  thou ! 


By  HARRIET  M'EWEN   KIMBALL. 

T3EST,  rest  for  him  whose  noble  work  is  done; 
•^     For  him  who  led  us  gently,  unaware, 

Till  we  were  readier  to  do  and  dare 
For  Freedom,  and  her  hundred  fields  were  won. 

His  march  is  ended  where  his  march  began : 
More  sweet  his  sleep  for  toil  and  sacrifice, 
And  that  rare  wisdom  whose  beginning  lies 

In  fear  of  God,  and  charity  for  man : 

And  sweetest  for  the  tender  faith  that  grew 

More  strong  in  trial,  and  through  doubt  more  clear. 
Seeing  in  clouds  and  darkness  ONE  appear 

In  whose  dread  name  the  Nation's  sword  he  drew. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  43 

Rest,  rest  for  hirn;  and  rest  for  us  to-day 

Whose  sorrow  shook  the  land  from  east  to  west 
When  slain   by  treason,  on  the  Nation's  breast 

Her  martyr  breathed  his  steadfast  soul  away. 

0  fervent  heart !  0  cool  and  patient  head ! 

0  shoulders  broad  to  bear  all  others'  blame ! 

Mercy  disguised  herself  beneath  his  name, 
While  Justice  through  his  lips  like  Pity  plead. 

His  truth  could  snare  the  wiliest  of  the  earth; 

His  wit  outweigh  the  ponderous  debate; 

By  sneers  unvexed,  in  triumph  unelate, 
He  stood  our  chief  in  place,  our  chi<jf  in  worth. 

Behold,  0  kingdoms  of  the  world,  behold, 
0  mighty  powers  beyond  the  swelling  wave, 
How  fast  as  rain  on  his  untitled  grave 

The  tears  of  millions  mingle  with  the  mould ! 

Such  love  a  prince  might  crave,  such  homage  seek; 
The  people's  love  that  clothed  him  like  a  king, 
The  grateful  trust  those  hands  were  swift  to  bring 

Whose  broken  fetters  of  deliverance  speak. 

Four  years  ago  unknown — to-day  how  dear! 

Four  years  that  tried  him  with  a  century's  strain, 
While    treason  led  his  wretched  hosts  in  vain 

And  turned  assassin  when  his  doom  was  near. 

Four  little  years  whose  space  a  thought  may  span; 
A  niche  in  Time's  vast  hall  where  he  doth  stand, 
To  win  applause  in  every  age  and  land, 

"The  noblest  work  of  God — an  HONEST  MAN." 


44  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


DIES 

ANONYMOUS. 

OH  !  not  the  man  alone,  nor  yet  the  chief 
He  is,  whose  death  hath  robed  the  land  in  grief; 
A  myriad  murders  centre  in  the  deed, 
And  with  one  wound  a  nation's  arteries  bleed  ! 

The  gory  stains  that  streak  the  dusk  of  time 
Grow  faint  and  pallid  in  this  noon  of  crime, 
And  the  great  record  shudders  through  its  leaves 
With  the  vast  groan  a  people's  bosom  heaves  ! 

From  sea  to  sea  an  awful  murmur  flows, 

And,  as  an  avalanche,  gathers  as  it  goes, 

Till,  like  volcanic  thunder  to  the  skies, 

From  the  shaken  earth  the  cries  of  vengeance  rise  ! 

We  will  have  justice  !     But  we  may  not  bring 
Him  back  who  was  the  guardian  of  our  spring, 
Who  watched  and  toiled  beneath  the  sombre  skies, 
Till  from  the  waste  he  saw  new  bloom  arise. 

Patient  and  pure,  one-minded,  undismayed; 
Of  all  the  wisdom  God  vouchsafed,  he  made 
A  steadfast  use,  and  if  his  judgment  ran 
Astray,  or  halted  —  he  was  but  a  man  ! 

A  simple  man  he  was,  who  felt  his  way 
Bravely  through  darkness,  hoping  for  the  day, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  45 

And  praying  for  more  light;  yet  constant  still, 
To  one  great  purpose  with  his  single  will ! 

God  rest  him !     He  hath  fallen  at  his  post 

As  nobly  as  the  noblest  in  our  host 

Of  martyrs  laurel-crowned !     And  we,  bereft, 

Look  through  the  gloom,  and  murmur — "Who  is  left?" 


:  -  :• 


B 


By  CALEB  DUNN. 

\-\\\\  him  toward  the  setting  sun — 


Home  to  his  Mecca  in  the  West: 
There,  where  the  mighty  rivers  run, 

Make  him  a  grave  in  his  country's  breast. 

Close  to  the  heart  of  the  mourning  land, — 
Clase  to  its  beating,  O  lay  him  down  ! 

Lay  him,  0  nation,  with  loving  hand — 
Lay  him,  the  ruler  without  a  crown! 

Not  with  the  pomp  of  an  idle  hour, 

Not  with  the  mockery  of  art, 
Not  with  the  empty  show  of  power, — 

But  with  the  pageantry  of  the  heart. 

Bear  him  across  the  prairies  wide, 
Over  the  mountain's  sunny  verge, 

Over  the  rivers  whose  breathing  tide 
Chants  for  the  dead  its  grandest  dirge. 


POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Lay  him  beside  the  violet  bed, 

Lay  him  beneath  his  native  sod; 
Under  the  grass  with  clover  red, 

And  bright  with  th'  approving  smile  of  God. 

Hallow'd  the  place  where  you  lay  him  down, 
While  numberless  ages  lapse  away, 

Marked  with  the  martyr's  cross  and  crown. 
And  bright  with  the  dawn  of  liberty's  day. 

For,  though  no  marble  urn  arise 

Above  the  grave  that  holds  his  dust, 

And  though  no  pillar  pierce  the  skies, 
Nor  'scutcheon  high,  nor  sculptured  bust ; 

Still,  long  as  the  stars  shall  kiss  the  sea, 
Long  as  the  rolling  earth  shall  move, 

His  name  his  monument  shall  be 
Reared  in  the  living  heart  of  love. 


By  EMELINE  SHERMAN  SMITH. 

T  OW  he  lies  upon  his  bier, 
Slain  by  traitorous  hand; 
Low  he  lies,  our  Ruler  dear, 
Mourned  thro'  all  the  land. 

Not  a  voice  but  wails  his  doom; 

Not  an  eye  but  weeps — 
Love,  in  every  heart  and  home, 

Saddest  vigil  keeps. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  47 

He  was  not  of  high  degree, 

Nor  of  lofty  birth, 
Yet  no  grander  man  than  he 

Ever  trod  the  earth. 

Emperor  nor  crowned  king- 
May  with  him  compare ; 

Emperor  nor  crowned  king 
May  his  greatness  share. 

He  was  noble  in  his  life; 

Nobler  in  his  death, 
For  he  spake  the  words  of  love 

With  his  latest  breath. 

Traitors,  cowards,  rebel  foes 

Vilified  his  name, 
Yet  his  generous  spirit  ne'er 

Breathed  reproach  or  blame. 

Trials  gloomed  around  his  path 

Till  his  day  was  done, 
Yet  he  kept  his  course  through  all, 

Changeless  as  the  sun. 

Not  for  friend,  and  not  for  foe 

Would  he  e'er  depart 
From  the  promptings,  wise  and  kind, 

Of  his  own  great  heart. 

Thro'  our  country's  woeful  war — 
Thro'  Rebellion's  Night, 


48  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

He  was  steadfast  as  a  star 
To  the  Truth  and  Right. 

When  at  last  sweet  Victory  canic  ^ 

Dawning  o'er  the  land, 
What  forgiving  words  he  breathed 

To  each  rebel  band! 

While  the  music  of  these  words 
Lingered  on  his  tongue; 

While  his  praises  and  his  fame 
Through  the  Nation  rung! 

While  we  loved  and  prized  him  most 
Came  the  traitor's  blow — 

In  the  hour  of  peace  and  joy. 
Came  to  lay  him  low. 

Ah!  the  pitying  hosts  of  Heaven, 

Who  are  watching  still 
O'er  the  wild  misdeeds  of  earth, 

Saw  this  mighty  ill — 

Saw,  with  tears,  the  people's  friend 

Basely  stricken  down, 
And  they  crowned  him,  as  he  fell, 

With  the  martyr's  crown. 

Now,  secure  his  earthly  fame ! 

Now,  he  cannot  die ! 
Angels  this  decree  proclaim 

From  their  thrones  on  high. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Still  his  virtues  speak,  as  when 

He  had  voice  and  breath; 
Still  his  kindly  acts  survive 

His  most  piteous  death. 

Blameless  life  and  gentle  deeds 

Win  the  noblest  fame; 
These,  with  holiest  light,  have  wreathed 

Our  dead  Martyr's  name. 


By  JOSEPH   MERREFIELD. 

!  martyr  to  thy .  country's  cause, 
Upholder  of  her  outraged  laws, 
A  sorrowing  nation  weeps  and  draws 
Around  thy  bier. 

Not  even  in  thy  hour  of  might, 

When  in  that  holiest  cause — the  right — 

Thy  armies  put  their  foes  to  flight, 

Wert  thou  so  dear. 

Nor  when  thy  pen,  with  power  unspoken, 
Proclaimed  the  bondsmen's  shackles  broken, 
And  gave  thy  signature,  in  token, 

A  deathless  fame, 

Wert  thou  as  loved,  as  prized  as  now, 

When  death's  pale  chaplet  wreathes  thy  brow, 

And  but  remains  the  patriot's  vow, 

Who  breathes  thy  name. 
5  C 


50  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THK 

Oh !  mothers,  teach  each  infant's  tongue 
The  name  of  him  whose  race  is  run, 
Once  Freedom's — now  Fame's — favorite  son, 
Though  in  the  tomb. 

Oh !  banner  of  the  azure  field, 
Of  silvered  stars  and  shing  shield, 
Craped  be  thy  folds,  that  never  yield 
To  show  our  gloom. 


From    the    LONDON    PUNCH. 

~\7~OU\a,y  a  wreath  on  murdered  Lincoln's  bier! 

You,  who  with  mocking  pencil  wont  to  trace, 
Broad  for  the  self-complacent  British  sneer, 

His  length  of  shambling  limb,  his  furrowed  face, 

His  gaunt,  gnarled  hands,  his  unkempt,  bristling  hair, 
His  garb  uncouth,  his  bearing  ill  at  ease, 

His  lack  of  all  we  prize  as  debonair, 

Of  power  or  will  to  shine,  of  art  to  please ! 

You,  whose  smart  pen  backed  up  the  pencil's  laugh, 
Judging  each  step,  as  though  the  way  were  plain ; 

Reckless,  so  it  could  point  its  paragraph 
Of  chief's  perplexity,  or  people's  pain ! 

Beside  this  corpse,  that  bears  for  winding-sheet 
The  stars  and  stripes  he  lived  to  rear  anew, 

Between  the  mourners  at  his  head  and  feet, 
Say.  scurril-jester,   is  there  room  for  you  ? 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  51 

Yes,  he  had  lived  to  shame  me  from  my  sneer — 
To  lame  my  pencil,  and  confute  my  pen — 

To  make  me  own  this  hind  of  princes  peer, 
This  rail-splitter  a   true-horn  king  of  men. 

My  shallow  judgment  I  had  learnt  to  rue, 
Noting  how  to  occasion's  height  he  rose; 

How  his  quaint  wit  made  home-truth  seem  more  true ; 
How,  iron-like,  his  temper 'grew  by  blows; 

How  humble,  yet  how  hopeful,  he  could  be ; 

How  in  good  fortune  and  in  ill  the  same; 
Nor  bitter  in  success,  nor  boastful  he, 

Thirsty  for  gold,  nor  feverish  for  fame. 

He  went  about  his  work — such  work  as  few 
Ever  had  laid  on  head,  and  heart,  and  hand — 

As  one  who  knows  where  there's  a  task  to  do; 

Man's  honest  will  must  Heaven's  good  grace  command; 

Who  trusts  the  strength  will  with  the  burden  grow, 
That  God  makes  instruments  to  work  his  will, 

If  but  that  will  we  can  arrive  to  know, 

Nor  tamper  with  the  weights  of  good  and  ill. 

So  he  went  forth  to  battle,  on  the  side 

That  he  felt  clear  was  Liberty's  and  Right's. 

As  in  his  peasant  boyhood  he  had  plied 

His  warfare  with  rude  nature's  thwarting  mights; — 

The  uncleared  forest,  the  unbroken  soil, 

The  iron  bark  that  turns  the  lumberer's  axe, 


52 

The  rapid,  that  o'erbears'the  boatman's  toil, 

The  prairie,  hiding  the  mazed  wanderer's  tracks, 

The  ambushed  Indian,  and  the  prowling  bear — 

Such  were  the  needs  that  helped  his  youth  to  train : 

Rough  culture — but  such  trees  large  fruit  may  bear, 
If  but  their  stocks  be  of  right  girth  and  grain. 

So  he  grew  up,  a  destined  work  to  do, 

And  lived  to  do  it:  four  long-suffering  years' 

Ill-fate,  ill-feeling,  ill-report,  lived  through, 

And  then  he  heard  the  hisses  change  to  cheers, 

The  taunts  to  tribute,  the  abuse  to  praise, 

And  took  both  with  the  same  unwavering  mood; 

Till,  as  he  came  on  light,  from  darkling  days, 

And  seemed  to  touch  the  goal  from  where  he  stood, 

A  felon  hand,  between  the  goal  and  him, 

Reached  from  behind  his  back,  a  trigger  prestr— 

And  those  perplexed  and  patient  eyes  were  dim, 
Those  gaunt,  long-laboring  limbs  were  laid  to  rest ! 

The  words  of  mercy  were  upon  his  lips, 
Forgiveness  in  his  heart  and  on  his  pen, 

When  this  vile  murderer  brought  swift  eclipse 
To  thoughts  of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men. 

The  old  world  and  the  new,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Utter  one  voice  of  sympathy  and  shame ! 

Sore  heart,  so  stopped  when  it  at  last  beat  high; 
Sad  life,  cut  short  just  as  its  triumph  came. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  5 

A  deed  accurst!    Strokes  have  been  struck  before 
By  the  assassin's  hand,  whereof  men  doubt 

If  more  of  horror  or  disgrace  they  bore; 

But  thy  foul  crime,  like  Cain's,  stands  darkly  out. 

Vile  hand,  that  brandest  murder  on  a  strife, 
Whate'er  its  grounds,  stoutly  and  nobly  striven; 

And  with  the  martyr's  crown  crownest  a  life, 
With  much  to  praise,  little  to  be  forgiven ! 


By  ALICE   GARY. 
Inscribed  to  the   London   Punch. 

"VTO  glittering  chaplet  brought  from  other  lands ! 

As  in  his  life,  this  mani^  in  death,  is  ours ; 

His  own  loved  prairies  o'er  his  " gaunt  gnarled  hands" 

Have  fitly  drawn  their  sheet  of  summer  flowers ! 

What  need  hath  he  now  of  a  tardy  crown, 

His  name  from  mocking  jest  and  sneer  to  save? 

When  every  ploughman  turns  his  furrow  down 
As  soft  as  though  it  fell  upon  his  grave. 

He  was  a  man  whose  like  the  world  again 
Shall  never  see,  to  vex  with  blame  or  praise; 

The  landmarks  that  attest  his  bright,  brief  reign, 
Are  battles,  not  the  pomps  of  gala-days ! 

The  grandest  leader  of  the  grandest  war 
That  ever  time  in  history  gave  a  place; 

5  * 


54  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

What  were  the  tinsel  flattery  of  a  star 

To  such  a  breast!  or  what  a  ribbon's  grace! 

Tis  to  th'  man,  and  th'  man's  honest  worth, 
The  nation's  loyalty  in  tears  upsprings; 

Through  him  the  soil  of  labor  shines  henceforth 
High  o'er  the  silken  broideries  of  kings. 

The  mechanism  of  external  forms — 

The  shrifts  that  courtiers  put  their  bodies  through, 
Were  alien  ways  to  him — his  brawny  arms 

Had  other  work  than  posturing  to  do ! 

Born  of  the  people,  well  he  knew  to  grasp 
The  wants  and  wishes  of  the  weak  and  small ; 

Therefore  we  hold  him  with  no  shadowy  clasp — 
Therefore  his  name  is  household  to  us  all. 

Therefore  we  love  him  with  a  love  apart 

From  any  fawning  love  of  pedigree — 
His  was  the  royal  soul  and  mind  and  heart — 

Not  the  poor  outward  shows  of  royalty. 

Forgive  us,  then,  0  friends,  if  we  are  slow 
To  meet  your  recognition  of  his  worth — 

We're  jealous  of  the  very  tears  that  flow 

From  eyes  that  never  loved  a  humble  hearth. 


MEM OR Y   OF  ABRAHAM   LINCOLN.  55 


ANONYMOUS. 

"DEAR  him  to  his  Western  home, 
•*-'     Whence  he  canie  four  years  ago; 
Not  beneath  some  mighty  dome, 
But  where  Freedom's  airs  may  come, 
Where  the  prairie  grasses  grow, 
To  the  friends  who  loved  him  so. 

Take  him  to  his  quiet  rest; 

Toll  the  bell  and  fire  the  gun; 
He  who  served  his  country  best, 
He  whom  millions  loved  and  blest. 

Now  has  fame  immortal  won ; 

Rack  of  brain  and  heart  is  done. 

Shed  thy  tears,  O  April  rain, 
O'er  the  bed  wherein  he  sleeps! 

Wash  away  the  bloody  stain  ! 

Drape  the  skies  in  grief,  0  rain ! 
Lo!  a  nation  with  thee  weeps, 

Grieving  o'er  her  martyred  slain. 

To  the  people  whence  he  came, 
Bear  him  gently  back  again. 

Greater  his  than  victor's  fame; 

His  is  now  a  sainted  name; 
Never  king  had  such  a  reign — 
Never  people  had  such  pain. 


Ot>  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  GEORGE  W.   RAENHART. 

rPHOUGHTFULLY,  watchfully, 

•       Bend  o'er  the  dead, 
Close  the  eyes  carefully, 
Pillow  the  head. 

Gentle  ones  decently 

Those  pale  hands  fold, 
Pulseless,  so  rigidly 

Stiffened  and  cold. 

Noiselessly,  breathlessly, 

Cover  the  breast, 
Bear  him  then  tenderly 

Home  to  the  West. 

Wistfully,  anxiously, 

Garland  the  brow, 
Silently,  solemnly, 

Reverently  bow. 

Lovingly,  tenderly. 

Lay  him  to  rest. 
Sorrowing  mournfully 

Over  the  blest. 

Twine  for  him  lastingly 

Chaplet  and  wreath, 
Fame  shall  enduringly 

Honor  bequeath. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  57 

Guide  us,  0,  Providence, 

Through  this  red  sea, 
By  thy  omnipotence 

Lead  us  to  thee. 

Placidly,  soothingly, 

Soften  our  grief, 
Father,  0,  patiently 

Give  us  relief. 

Sighing  still  heavily, 

O'er  the  loved  slain, 
Weeping  yet  bitterly, 

Groaning  with  pain. 

Tremblingly,  dirgefully, 

Accents  of  woe 
From  our  lips,  wearily. 

Ceaselessly  flow. 

Lord,  for  thy  merciful 

Kindness  and  care, 
Look  we  still  trustingly 

Upward  in  pray'r. 

Leaning  confidingly, 

Father,  on  thee, 
Plead  we,  deliver  us 

From  out  the  red  sea. 

c  * 


f>8  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  J.  G.   BARNETT. 

TTTEEP,  oh !  weep !  A  nation  weeps ; 

^  *   Weep,  oh !  weep  with  tears  of  anguish ; 
For  the  ruler  of  our  land — 
Our  country's  guard,  our  country's  guide — 
The  nation's  hope,  the  nation's  pride — 
Has  passed  away,  to  dwell  with  God 
In  endless  day ! 
Weep,  oh !  weep !  a  nation  mourns. 

All  the  hopes  in  him  we've  cherished, 
Are  blighted  and  forever  gone ! 
Tears  now  speak  the  nation's  feeling; 
Bitter  tears  our  grief  revealing, 
For  him  who  was  our  pride  and  stay, 
Has  passed  away  to  dwell  with  God 
In  endless  day. 
Weep,  &c. 

Lord  of  life,  to  Thee  we  bend ; 
Let  Thy  Spirit  now  descend; 
To  the  nation  whisper  peace; 
Bid  its  streams  of  sorrow  cease; 
When  the  summons  calls  us  home, 
May  we  at  Thy  right  hand  be  found, 
With  him  for  whom  we  grieve  and  mourn, 
So  sad  and  sudden  from  us  torn  ! 
Weep,  &c. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  59 


By  A.  J.   H.   DUGANNE. 

C\  I  WEEP  for  freedom's  martyr !  Weep !  ye  nations ! 

•  His  cause  was  yours,  and  yours  his  aspirations ! 
Weep !    freedmen !    weep !    redeemed   from    chains  and 

lashes : 
Weep !  traitors !  weep !  beneath  rebellion's  ashes ! 

He  was  your  friend !    His  large,  warm  heart  was  yielded 
Even  to  his  foes.     His  love  their  hatred  shielded. 
Clothed  with  our  wrath,  and  trampling  treason's  curses, 
Smiles  were  his  lightnings  and  his  bolts  were  mercies. 

Foremost  of  men — and  worthiest  of  all  victors — 
States  were  his  rods,  and  patriot-chiefs  his  lictors! 
Laureled  with   love,  and   crowned  with    thorns  of  suf- 
fering, 
Victim  and  priest — he  dies — our  last  peace-ofiering ! 

This  is  Good  Friday  ! — day  of  expiation  ! 
Day  of  all  days,  which  gave  the  world  salvation 
When,  by  our  Lord  and  Saviour's    crucifixion, 
Manhood  was  lifted — unto  resurrection  ! 

Day  of  remembrance !  shrined  in  freedom's  story ! 
Dark  with  her  grief,  yet  lustrous  with  her  glory! 
Day  when  her  stars  from  Sumter's  shield  were  riven! 
Day  when  her  chief  surmounts  the  stars  of  heaven ! 

Under  his  glorious  feet  our  war-cloud  drifteth : 
Borne  on  his  breast,  a  ransomed  race  he  lifteth ; 


60  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Heroes  and  saints  with  fadeless  stars  have  crowned  him — 
And  Washington's  dear  arms  are  clasped  around  him ! 

Grod  of  our  land  !  to  Thee  this  pure  oblation ! 
Freedom's  sweet  blood,  poured  out  for  freedom's  nation  ! 
Deign  to  behold  our  cross  and  crucifixion, 
And  be  his   martyrdom  our  resurrection  ! 


By  J.   HENRY   HAYWARD. 

TF  ever  man  had  cause  to  weep, 

Ay,  weep  as  man,  strong  man,  alone  can  weep, 
That  cause  is  now !     Now  may  he  bow  his  head, 
And  shade  with  trembling  hand  his  burning  eyes, 
Whilst  down  his  cheek  the  scalding  drops  of  grief 
May  course  their  way  unchecked,  and  unreproved 
By  those  whose  brows  serene  with  shame  would  glow, 
To  own  the  presence  of  a  single  tear, 
If  shed  for  cause  less  grievous  and  sad 
Than  this,  o'er  which  a  bow'd  down  nation  now 
Shames  not  to  weep! 

There  is  a  time  when  tears 
Belong  to  other  than  a  maiden's  eyes — 
When  man,  bold  in  the  consciousness  of  might, 
May  without  shame  forget  his  stern  manhood, 
And  like  a  very  child  bend  down  and  weep — 
Weep  for  a  people's  happiness  destroyed. 
Weep  for  the  dream  of  promised  greatness  gone, 
Weep  for  sweet  peace  departed  with  the  day, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  61 

Which,  mid  the  gloom  of  night,  went  out, 
When  hell  had  found  a  fiend  so  recreant 
Among  the  sons  of  earth,  as  he,  whose  hands 
Hath  the  pure  altar  of  fraternal  right 
Besmeared  with  blood,  and  draped  with  sable  folds 
Each  fireside  throughout  the  land ! 

My  country,  oh!  I  weep  for  thee. 
Beside  the  ruins  of  his  fallen  clay 
I  weep;  nor  shame  I  at  the  tears  thus  shed, 
For  now  each  sigh  is  but  a  bitter  oath, 
Each  tear  a  seal,  which  makes  the  oath  a  bond, 
That  every  loyal  heart  doth  feel,  and  swear 
Upon  the  altar  of  his  country's  cause — 
Which,  by  the  sacrilegious  hand  of  one 
Who  would  deface  the  noblest  work  of  G-od 
Without  a  sigh — hath  been  outraged, 
As  never  did  a  fiend  the  laws  of  God 
Or  man  outrage  before ! 

A  thrill  of  horror  through  the  nation  sweeps. 
And  tears  of  anguish  from  the  eyelash  fall; 
All  party  ties  and  lines  forgotten  are; 
And  thus  in  grief — if  not  in  patriotic  joy — 
The  nation  is  as  one! 

'Twere  well  to  weep  such  tears. 

They  purge  the  heart,  and  to  the  soul  give  strength 
To  do  great  deeds,  when  deeds  are  needed  most. 
Who  loves  his  country  therefore  shame  not  now 
O'er  her  great  woe,  with  me,  to  weep! 

6 


62  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  CHARLES  G.   HALPINE. 

TTE  filled  the  nation's  eye  and  heart. 

An  honored,  loved,  familiar  name; 
So  much  a  brother,  that  his  fame 
Seemed  of  our  lives  a  common  part. 

His  towering  figure,  sharp  and  spare, 
Was  with  such  nervous  tension  strung, 
As  if  on  each  strained  sinew  swung 

The  burden  of  a  people's  care. 

His  changing  face  what  pen  can  draw — 
Pathetic,  kindly,  droll,  or  stern  ? 
And  with  a  glance  so  quick  to  learn 

The  inmost  truth  of  all  he  saw. 

Pride  found  no  idle  space  to  spawn 
Her  fancies  in  his  busy  mind; 
His  worth — like  health  of  air — could  find 

No  just  appraisal  till  withdrawn. 

He  was  his  country's — not  his  own ! 

He  had  no  wish  but  for  her  weal ; 

Nor  for  himself  could  think  or  feel 
But  as  a  laborer  for  her  throne. 

Her  flag  upon  the  heights  of  power, 
Stainless  and  unassailed  to  place — 
To  this  one  end  his  earnest  face 

Was  bent  through  every  burdened  hour. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  63 


The  veil  that  hides  from  our  dull  eyes 
A  hero's  worth,  Death  only  lifts; 
While  he  is  with  us,  all  his  gifts 

Find  hosts  to  question,  few  to  prize. 

But  done  the  battle  —  won  the  strife, 
When  torches  light  his  vaulted  tomb, 
Broad  gems  flash  out  and  crowns  illume 

The  clay  cold  brows  undecked  in  life. 

And  men  of  whom  the  world  will  talk 
For  ages  hence,  may  noteless  move  ; 
And  only,  as*they  quit  us,  prove 

That  giant  souls  have  shared  our  walk; 

For  Heaven  —  aware  what  follies  lurk 
In  our  weak  hearts  —  their  mission  done, 
Snatches  her  loved  ones  from  the  sun 

In  the  same  hour  that  crowns  their  work. 


Oh,  loved  and  lost!  thy  patient  toil 

Had  robed  our  cause  in  Victory's  light; 
Our  country  stood,  redeemed  and  bright, 

With  not  a  slave  on  all  her  soil. 

Again  o'er  Southern  towns  and  towers 
The  eagles  of  our  nation  flew; 
And  as  the  weeks  to  summer  grew 

Each  day  a  new  success  was  ours. 


64  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

'Mid  peal  of  bells  and  cannon-bark, 

And  shouting  streets  with  flags  abloom, 
Sped  the  shrill  arrow  of  thy  doom, 

And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark ! 
*  *  * 

Thick  clouds  around  us  seem  to  press; 

The  heart  throbs  quickly — then  is  still; 

Father,  'tis  hard  to  say,  "Thy  will 
Be  done !"  in  such  an  hour  as  this. 

A  martyr  to  the  cause  of  man. 
His  blood  is  freedom's  eucharist, 
And  in  the  world's  great  hero  list 

His  name  shall  lead  the*  van ! 

Yea!  raised  on  faith's  white  wings,  unfurled 

In  heaven's  pure  light,  of  him  we  say : 
"  He  fell  on  the  self-same  day 

A   GREATER   DIED   TO    SAVE   THE   WORLD." 

By    Rev.    EDWARD    HOPPER. 

T)EBELLION!  thou  hast  done  thy  worst; 
•*-*'     0  treason-spawn  of  slavery ! 
Thy  work  is  done.     Now  take  thy  crown — 
The  felon-cap  of  infamy. 

Thou  foulest  murderer  since  Cain, 

Whose  heart  like  his  gave  murder  birth, 

Go  thou,  accursed  of  G-od  and  man, 
A  vagabond  upon  the  earth. 


MEMOUY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  65 

This  crimsonest,  bloodiest-red  of  all 
The  blossoms  and  the  fruit  of  crime, 

Shall  make  man  blush  that  he  is  man, 
Through  all  the  coming  years  of  time 

A  nation's  songs,  of  joyous  praise, 

Rising  to  God  on  every  gale, 
Were  in  a  moment  hushed  into 

A  nation's  broken-hearted  wail. 

A  nation's  hands  while  weaving  flowers, 

To  place  upon  her  ruler's  brow, 
Were  palsied  by  thy  murder-blow, 

And  hang  in  sullen  sorrow  now. 

The  piteous  night  that  saw  the  deed, 
From  all  her  starry  eyes  did  weep; 

And  earth  grew  restless  with  such  blood, 
And  blushed  while  yet  it  lay  asleep. 

The  day  arose,  but  shrunk  aghast, 

And  wrapped  a  cloud  around  the  sun, 

To  hide  his  face  from  that  foul  crime, 
And  wept  great  tears,  as  night  had  done. 

0  treason-spawn  of  slavery ! 

Snake,  warmed  within  a  nation's  breast, 
How  couldst  thou  crawl,  unseen,  so  high, 

And  strike  our  eagle  in  his  nest? 

Once  seeming  angel — devil  now, 

Damned  with  eternal  stain  of  blood, 
ft  • 


66  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Thy  name  is  cursed,  like  Lucifer's, 
That  rebel  who  first  struck  at  God. 

Thy  victim's  blood  hath  stained  thy  brow, 
As  thou  didst  scar  thy  bondmen's  skin ; 

And  the  fierce  lightnings  of  God's  wrath 
Shall  scorch,  and  sear,  and  burn  it  in. 

Thou'st  saved  what  thou  didst  mean  to  kill, 
0  rage  most  foul  and  impotent ! 

For  freedom  hath  her  martyr  crowned, 
And  we  our  martyr-President ! 

A  martyr's  crown  is  on  his  head, 

The  cap  of  infamy  on  thine ; 
Thou  liv'st  to  die  a  felon-death, 

He  died  to  live  a  life  divine. 

For  him  eternal  glory  shines, 

An  endless  fame  throughout  all  time ; 

But  what  for  thee  but  blood-red  flame 
Of  endless  death  for  blood-red  crime  ? 

What  peerless  blood  once  filled  his  heart, 
And  thousands',  shed  for  liberty ! 

0  treason  !  look  upon  thy  hands ; 
'Tis  all  on  thee,  'tis  all  on  thee ! 

Assassin  of  a  President ! 

Thou  hast  not  killed  our  native  land, 
But  thou  hast  murdered  tender  love, 

And  sealed  thy  doom  with  bloody  hand. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Sweet  angel  Mercy  smiled  by  him, 
While  sitting  on  the  people's  throne ; 

But  thou  hast  slain  the  angel  there, 
And  left  stern  Nemesis  alone. 

The  lightning  stroke  that  broke  our  hearts 
Hath  melted  all  our  hearts  in  one, 

And  drank  up  all  our  pitying  tears ; 

0  sulphurous  flame,  what  hast  thou  done? 

Our  iron  wills  are  melted  now, 
All,  all  in  one  stern,  iron  sword; 

And  from  that  sword  the  martyr-blood 
Cries  out  for  vengeance  to  the  Lord. 

Wail,  wail,  0  North!  wail,  wail,  0  South! 

Mercy  is  dead,  but  justice  lives; 
And  law  rides  forth  with  Penalty : 

For  that  sweet  tongue  no  more  forgives. 

That  shattered  brain  so  toiled  for  thee ! 

That  murdered  heart  did  love  thee  so ! 
Wail,  wail,  0  South !  thou  treason-cursed, 

Poor  words  cannot  express  thy  woe. 

Since  Washington,  no  man  hath  sat, 
(Unconscious  greatness  all  his  own,) 

So  good,  so  great,  so  grandly  wise, 
So  meekly  on  the  people's  throne. 

Like  Washington,  he  lived  to  save 
A  race  from  thraldom,  and  he  died 


68  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

As  loved,  revered,  and  wept  as  he, 
To  stand  in  glory  by  his  side. 

Repenting  tongues,  in  sorrow  clad, 
Come  gathering  round  his  body  slain, 

To  pluck,  alas  !  their  arrows  thence 

Which  stung  his  living  heart  with  pain. 

Eyes  weep  in  love  for  him,  to  whom, 
Alive,  no  loving  look  they  gave; 

And  foemen's  hands  cast  evergreen, 

And  sweet,  white  flowers  into  his  grave. 

A  nation's  eyes  are  blind  with  grief; 

A  nation's  heart  is  drowned  in  grief; 
Kingdoms  and  crowns  join  in  our  grief; 

Mankind  is  sobbing  with  our  grief. 

And  never  yet  for  man  hath  grief 

From  broken  hearts  so  wept  and  cried, 

Like  that  long  moan  from  weeping  slaves, 
The  lowly  ones  for  whom  he  died. 

Their  hearts  are  broken  with  their  chains; 

Their  Moses,  who  did  lead  them  through 
The  wilderness  to  Canaan's  shore, 

From  Pisgah  caught  the  pleasant  view ; 

Then  in  a  moment  heard  the  voice 
Of  him  who  set  the  captives  free 

And  claims  the  glory,  say  to  him, 

"Friend,  come  up  higher;  sit  with  me!" 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  G9 

Could  we  solidify  the  tears 

Shed  for  the  martyr-President, 
Those  precious  jewels  were  enough, 

Piled  up,  to  build  his  monument! 


By    HENRY    MORFORD. 

rPO  every  man — Horatius  said — 

Death  cometh  soon  or  falleth  late  I 
But  only  he  the  blow  should  dread 
Who  begs,  not  dares,  his  fate. 

To  every  man  some  post  is  given 
Where  honors  point  or  duties  call ; 

And  if  his  doom  is  writ  of  heaven, 
'Tis  there  that  he  should  fall. 

No  matter  if  the  battle  shout 

Drowns  the  last  lingering  sob  of  breath, 
Or  woman's  feeble  wail  moans  out 

Round  some  hushed  bed  of  death. 

No  matter  if  the  strong  hand  hold, 
That  moment,  grasp  of  duty's  helm, 

Or  if  soft  joys  the  limbs  enfold, 
Or  midnight  slumber  whelm. 

No  matter — so  the  path  is  clear. 

No  matter — so  the  will  is  strong, 
No  matter  if  the  doom  is  near, 

Or  waits  and  tarries  long. 


70  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

To  die  in  God's  good  time  is  gain, 
Whether  he  takes,  in  loving  peace, — 

Or  murderous  stroke .  of  hand  and  brain 
Makes  quick  and  sad  surcease. 

But  oh  !  to  die  with  labor  done — 

That  labor  what  the  whole  world  willed, 

Or  with  the  goal  so  nearly  won, 
All  hold  the  task  fulfilled ,— 

To  have  gained  a  victor's  glorious  wreath, 
Then  crowned  it  with  the  sapphire  star 

Of  a  great  mercy's  trust  and  faith, 
Brightening  the  worlds  afar, — 

To  know  the  midnight  gone  at  last, 
To  see  the  day  break  clear  and  calm, 

To  know  that  o'er  the  black  vales  past 
The  morning  breathes  its  balm, — 

To  stand  upon  the  mountain's  top, 

Such  toil  just  closed,  at  such  an  hour, 

And  cloudward,  whence  God's  blessings  drop, 
Hear  man's  sweep  up  with  power, — 

And  then  and  there  to  die!     To  rest! 

Marbled  in  fame — embalmed  in  good ! 
The  past  (once  doubted)  praised  and  blest, 

The  future  understood,— 

,No  heat  and  burden  of  to-day 
Stretching  its  vista  on  before — 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  71 

The  immortal  seizing  mortal  clay, 
As  Moses  once  they  bore — 

Death  at  the  summit,  this !     Not  death — 

A  happy  apotheosis 
That  men  might  seek  with  praying  breath 

A  thousand  years,  and  miss! 

And  when  ye  hunt  his  murderers  down — 
Men  who  his  mantle  humbly  bear — 

And  blast  them  with  a  nation's  frown, 
And  limb  from  carcase  tear — 

Do  it,  because  the  nation's  pride 

And  God's  quick  justice  this  demand — 

That  never  more  the  regicide 
May  lift  his  reeking  hand; 

But  do  it  not  in  hot  revenge 

For  one,  unsuflering  by  the  blow, 
Who  at  the  summit  found  a  change 

That  only  God  can  know. 

And  when  ye  shroud  your  halls  in  glooni, 
And  raise  the  prayer,  and  drop  the  tear, 

And  bear  him  to  his  western  tomb, 
A  nation  round  his  bier — 

Weep  for  the  country,  if  ye  must — 
For  manhood,  murder-stained  and  dim; 

But  dwarf  not  judgment,  truth  and  trust, 
By  shedding  tears  for  him ! 


72  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


A   CRIME  WITHOUT  A   NAME. 

By  EUGENE    H.    MUNDAY. 

T  ONG  years  of  teaching  yield  a  fruit 
-*-^     That  well  the  demon's  brow  may  shame ; 
And  nations  stand  aghast  and  mute 
Before  a  crime  without  a  name ! 

So  firmly  good,  so  kindly  brave, 
He  knit  our  hearts  unto  his  own ; 

And,  bowing  o'er  our  martyr's  grave, 

We  pray — God  keep  him  near  his  throne ! 

But  who  shall  stand  before  the  power 
That's  gathering  from  the  nation's  grief, 

While,  stricken  low  in  triumph's  hour, 
We  mourn  our  loved,  our  father  chief? 

How  will  our  heroes  bear  the  blow  ? 

Or  how  restrain  their  bursting  wrath  ? 
As  onward  to  the  Gulf  they  go, 

Will  fiery  besoms  sweep  their  path? 

0,  guide  our  vengeance !     Thou  to  whom 
The  power  of  wrath  alone  belongs ! 

Let  not  blind  nature,  in  the  gloom, 

With  sickening  carnage  right  our  wrongs; 

But  while  pale  Mercy  bleeding  lies, 
Dumb,  on  her  dear  apostle's  grave, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  73 

Let  Justice,  with  her  piercing  eyes 
And  nerveful  arm,  advance — to  save ! 

To  save  the  weak,  the  driven  foe, 

Yet  smite,  as  with  Thy  sword  of  flame, 

The  fiends — o'erniatching  fiends  below — 
Who  taught  a  crime  without  a  name ! 


By  OLIVER  WENDELL    HOLMES. 

THOU  of  soul  and  sense  and  breath, 

The  ever-present  Giver, 
Unto  Thy  mighty  angel,  death, 

All  flesh  thou  dost  deliver; 
What  most  we  cherish,  we  resign, 
For  life  and  death  alike  are  Thine, 

Who  reignest  Lord  forever! 

Our  hearts  lie  buried  in  the  dust 
With  him,  so  true  and  tender, 

The  patriot's  stay,  the  people's  trust, 
The  shield  of  the  offender; 

Yet  every  murmuring  voice  is  still, 

As,  bowing  to  Thy  sovereign  will, 
Our  best  loved  we  surrender. 

Dear  Lord,  with  pitying  eye  behold 

This  martyr  generation, 
Which  Thou,  through  trials  manifold, 

Art  showing  Thy  salvation ! 
7  D 


POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

0  let  the  blood  by  murder  spilt 
Wash  out  Thy  stricken  children's  guilt, 
And  sanctify  our  nation ! 

Be  Thou  Thy  orphaned  Israel's  friend, 
Forsake  Thy  people  never, 

In  One  our  broken  Many  blend, 
That  none  again  may  sever ! 

Hear  us,  0  Father,  while  we  raise 

With  trembling  lips  our  song  of  praise, 
And  bless  Thy  name  forever ! 


By  MRS.   LUCY   HAMILTON   HOOPER. 

"Lass  rinnen  der  Thranen 

Vergeblichen  Lauf! 
}•'.-  wecke  die  Klago 
Den  Todten  nicht  auf !" 

SCHILLER.    Thekla's  Song. 

"  Stream  forth,  0  tears ! 

Ye  pour  in  vain; 

No  plaints  awaken 

The  dead  again." 

Translation. 

A  MID  the  grief  of  this  awful  time, 
-^-  Shadowed  by  sorrow  and  dark  with  crime, 
Our  hearts  are  haunted  by  Schiller's  rhyme, 
"Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 

0  wondrous  vision  of  Walleustem ! 
The  days  of  treason  and  triumph  shine, 
A  sad  voice  murmurs  the  boding  line. 
"Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  75 

The  laugh  and  the  shout  ring  from  the  walls, 
There's  mirth  and  feasting  amid  the  halls, 
The  mournful  song  to  the  echo  calls, 
"  Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 

We  were  so  joyous  a  while  ago, 
Our  hearts  and  our  homes  were  all  aglow. 
No  Thekla  beside  us  whispered  low, 
"  Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 

Brightly  dawned  our  victorious  day, 
Proudly  we  greeted  its  noontide  ray, 
Its  sun  in  darkness  has  passed  away, 
"  Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 

Our  cannon's  thunder  seemed  faint  and  low 
To  utter  our  joy;  but  now,  ah  now! 
We  whisper  sadly,  we  whisper  low, 
"  Lass  rinnen  die  Thranen." 

Our  lips  were  smiling,  our  hearts  were  gay, 
The  noblest  heart  in  the  land  is  clay, 
And  now  though  his  smile  fadeth  not  away, 
"  Lass  rinnen  die   Thranen." 


76  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  W.    H.    C.    HOSMER. 

muffled  drum  and  tolling  bell 
-*-     Betoken  ill  the  nation's  grief, 
While  bearing  to  his  narrow  cell 
All  that  is  mortal  of  their  chief. 

Such  heart-felt  homage  to  the  great 
And  laureled  Julius  was  not  paid, 

When  lay  the  pleading  corse  in  state, 
Yet  unavenged  his  mighty  shade. 

Let  childhood  drop  the  wreaths  of  May, 
Fair  women  place  choice  funeral  flowers 

Above  his  grandly-coffined  clay — 
The  palm  is  his,  the  cross  is  ours. 

In  mourning  is  Columbia  clad, 
In  black  her  starry  banner  veiled, 

And  bosoms,  late  with  triumph  glad. 
Throb  now  for  final  conflict  mailed. 

When  humbled  was  the  flag  in  dust 
Whose  stars  blaze  over  Sumter  now, 

His  arm,  in  God  reposing  trust, 
He  lifted,  smiting  treason's  brow. 

Avengers,  full  of  prowess,  woke 

To  hear  his  clarion  call,  "to  arms!" 

Forsaking,  for  the  roar  and  smoke 
Of  battle-fields,  their  shops  and  farms. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  77 

From  frowning  North,  and  loyal  East, 
Our  young  West  with  its  broad  domain 

Rise  wailing  for  the  great  high  priest 
Of  mercy,  truth  and  justice  slain. 

His  mission  is  not  ended  here, 

Nor  is  his  sun  of  glory  set; 
To  all  in  bonds  his  words  of  cheer 

Give  promise  of  deliverance  yet. 

Guilt  only  struck  the  mortal  down, 
The  deathless,  murder  could  not  kill ; 

Earth's  martyrs  who  have  won  the  crown 
Die  never,  guiding,  guardian  still. 

ANONYMOUS. 

/~1  IVE  place  to  sorrow ;  fill  the  heavy  air 
^  With  wailing,  and  sad  sounding  requiem, 
While  bell  slow  tolling,  and  deep  muffled  drum, 
Mingle  their  echoes  in  a  funeral  hymn. 
Grief,  pallid  phantom,  spread  thy  letheal  wing 
Above  us !     Horror,  wild-eyed,  distraught,  draw  near ! 
And  murkest  night,  your  darkest  shadows  fling; —  . 
The  patriot!     Martyr!  rests  upon  his  bier; — 
Then  high  the  requiem  swell ;  while  falls  the  silent  tear ! 

Chief  of  a  mighty  nation  thou  art  gone, 
Sudden  and  swift  as  tempest  to  their  mark, 
No  more  to  buffet  blasting  storms  of  state, 
Thy  soul  has  found  a  refuge  in  the  Ark 


78  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Of  rnercy — so  we  trust,  no  more  can  dark 
And  hellish  hate  assail  thee;  never  more — 
Thy  glorious  course  is  run !     Thy  stranded  bark 
Has  reached  the  port  of  peace;  thro'  seas  of  gore, 
Through   scorching   fires  of  hell;    thank  God  they  all 
are  o'er! 

Droop  low,  blue  banner,  wreath  thy  starry  folds 
Above  his  silent  clay,  his  pulseless  head, 
The  flag  he  loved  shall  guard  his  slumbers  well; 
Till  dust  to  dust,  he  mingles  with  the  dead. 
What  precious  dust !  all  hallow'd  be  the  bed 
Where  Lincoln  sleeps — shrined  in  a  nation's  heart 
Forever — at  thy  name  the  helpless  who  have  bled 
Beneath  the  pang  of  power,  shall  sudden  start 
Into    new   life,  and   bless   the    sound  while   glows   the 
vital  spark. 

Conqu'ring  Columbia  comes  from  well-fought  fields 
To  lay  her  trophies  at  her  chieftain's  feet, 
What  tho'  he  sleeps  among  the  lowly  dead  ? 
His  soul  from  starry-ether  still  shall  greet 
His  brothers,  children,  friends,  Oh !  it  is  meet 
To  name  him  reverently,  and  with  pride — 
Tell  how  the  deadly  fire  of  traitors  beat 
On  his  devoted  head!  tell  far  and  wide, 
How  wisely,  nobly,  Lincoln    lived !    how  like  a  martyr 
died! 

Saint   John,    New    Brunswick. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  79 


BY  J.  A.   FIELD. 

God,  that  lie  was  caught  at  last! 
Thank  God,  that  he  is  dead ! 
That  tribulation  has  laid  low 

The  dark  assassin's  head. 
Oh,  modern  Judas  !  traitor — knave  ! 

Whose  base  blood-thirsty  soul 
Was  dyed  within  the  blackened  streams, 
That  downward,  death-ward  roll. 

Greater  than  Cain's,  that  heinous  crime 

Committed  by  his  hand, 
Against  our  Nation's  mighty  Chief, 

The  Father  of  our  land. 
"  Grandfather,"  said  a  little  maid, 

Standing  beside  his  knee, 
"  What  is  a  dark  assassin  ? — please 
Explain  it  all  to  me." 

"  Darling,  it  is  a  vile,  bad  man, 

That  like  a  panther  creeps 
From  out  some  covert's  hidden  depths, 

And  on  his  victim  leaps. 
No  trembling  of  his  iron  nerves, 

No  pity  in  his  breast, 
While  sending  prayerless  and  unshriven, 

A  brother  to  his  rest." 


80  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

"  Oh  good,  kind  Lincoln ! — it  was  mean — 

Had  not  the  assassin  shame  ? 
Grandfather,  tell  me,  if  you  please, 

What  was  the  murderer's  name?" 
"  My  love,  'twould  soil  a  loyal  lip, 

'Tis  stained  so  by  his  crime; 
Traitor  will  be  its  synonym, 
Throughout  all  coming  .time." 

"  And  where,  pray,  will  his  body  lie  ? 

Where  his  deep-sunken  grave  ? 
Sure,  'twill  not  with  the  soldiers  rest, 

Our  noble  and  our  brave?" 
"  No,  love,  his  grave  will  never  meet 

Man's  wonder-loving  eyes; 
No  tell-tale  marble  ever  show 
Where  the  vile  traitor  lies. 

"  Unknown,  unwept,  unhonored,  too, 

Resolves  the  senseless  clay; 
None,  none  can  seek  the  secret  spot, 

For  none  can  point  the  way. 
Earth  claims  her  part  of  crumbling  dust, 

And  so  the  water,  air; 
But  the  immortal — oh,  my  God ! 

Where  is  the  spirit — where  ?" 

New    Orleans. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  81 

TO  MRS.   LINCOLN. 

By    EMISSUS. 

!  gracious  Grod,  do  lend  thine  ear, 
In  tender  love  and  zeal, 
To  this  heart-rending,  humble  prayer, 

And  this  sincere  appeal, 
For  her  whose  heart  is  bow'd  in  grief, 

For  him  she  loved  so  dear — 
Who  finds  nor  comfort  nor  relief, 
Tho'  constant,  tears  appear. 

Lord,  give  her  strength  to  cast  aside, 

This  mournful  wail  of  mind, 
With  trusting  heart  let  her  confide, 

That  she  may  surely  find 
Comfort  from  those  who  love  her  true, 

With  constancy  replete, 
From  faithful  breasts  where  friendship  grew 

And  blooms  so  pure  and  sweet. 

Severe  affliction  has  been  thrown 

Upon  her  earthly  peace; 
While  sorrow's  web  has  quickly  grown 

To  bind  without  release : 
Her  life's  upon  a  stormy  sea, 

Tossed  by  a  gloomy  gale, 
Along  the  shores  where  troubles  flee 

Deep  in  a  dolesome  vale. 


82  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Father,  her  mind  with  rapture  lift 

To  Christian's  brightest  scope 
Of  heavenly  joy — this  precious  gift 

Will  give  her  strength  to  hope 
That  all  her  trials  shall  allay 

Into  a  peaceful  form 
Of  happiness,  to  drive  away 

Affliction's  darkest  storm. 

And  tho'  her  heart  be  fully  clothed 

With  Mary's  sinful  grief, 
More  sinful  yet,  may  be  betrothed 

With  murmurings  for  relief, 
Yet  give  her  strength  to  purge  the  sin 

By  pure  and  contrite  heart, 
Till  truly  cleansed,  without,  within, 

And  all  her  sins  depart. 

The  floating  clouds  around,  portray 

Such  dark  and  dismal  hues : 
Oh !  Lord,  disperse  this  sad  array, 

Into  refreshing  dews, 
To  spread  the  path  with  righteous  grace, 

With  holy  light  of  love; 
Which  sacred  gift  let  her  embrace, 

'Twill  all  her  grief  remove. 

The  cares  intrusted  to  her  guide, 

Her  dearest  comfort  be; 
Whose  years,  I  pray,  may  gently  glide 

In  peace  o'er  life's  sad  sea. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  83 

While  blooming  in  capacious  mind 

In  wisdom's  fertile  grove, 
May  gather  thence  the  wisest  kind 

Of  knowledge  from  above. 

Then  let  the  brightest  pleasures  roll 

Across  her  peaceful  breast, 
Until  the  solemn  knell  shall  toll 

Her  breath  to  silent  rest. 
Then  may  her  soul  but  realize 

The  blessing  from  above, 
Eternal  joys — the  only  prize 

Of  God's  redeeming  love. 

As  twilight  hours  doth  softly  link 

Day's  beauties  with  the  night; 
And  as  the  morning  beams  shall  drink 

The  darkness  from  the  light: 
So  may  death  as  gently  fling 

His  mantle  o'er  her  eyes, 
While  angels,  with  protecting  wings, 

Shall  waft  her  to  the  skies. 

Charleston,  S.  C. 


By    ALBERT    LAIGHTON. 

oh  death-bells,  sad  and  slow; 
Muffled  drums,  your  dirges  play; 
Freedom's  martyr  lieth  low, — 
And  a  nation  weeps  to-day. 


POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Silent  be  the  busy  mart; 

Midway  droop,  oh  flags,  in  air, 
While  the  country's  bleeding  heart 

Sobs  its  bitter  grief  in  prayer. 

God  of  nations,  as  our  tears 

In  this  hour  of  darkness  flow, — 

Hush  our  murmurings,  calm  our  fears; 
Lift  the  crushing  weight  of  woe. 

Let  us  feel  Thine  arms  beneath, 
Oh,  thou  Holy  One  and  Just ; 

Teach  our  trembling  lips  to  breathe, 
"In  the  Lord  we  put  our  trust." 


By  E.   B.   P- 


TN  silent  honor  side  by  side, 

Amazed  the  New  and  Old  Worlds  stand, 
Since  by  the  foul  assassin's  hand 

Lincoln,  the  pure  and  true,  hath  died. 

We  cannot  speak  the  thing  we  meant — 
Excess  of  grief  hath  made  us  dumb,    . 
(Few  words  from  stricken  spirits  come), 

Only  our  tears  are  eloquent. 

Great  ruler  of  a  mighty  land ! 

A  king  in  deed  though  not  in  name. 
Thy  sense  of  right  the  only  fame 

Sought  by  the  life  so  calm  and  grand. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  85 

Rest — for  thy  work  is  done.     Thy  hand 
Hath  written  freedom  for  the  slave; — 
His  chains  are  buried  in  thy  grave; 

His  curse  is  lifted  from  the  land. 

The  fame  thou  didst  not  seek  is  thine : 

Both  life  and  death  have  stricken  hands 
To  make  thee  famous  in  all  lands, 

And  the  great  human  heart  thy  shrine. 

Brighton,  England. 

By    ETA. 

AUT  of  the  depths,  0  Lord !  out  of  the  depths 
^     A  smitten  nation  cries  to  Thee — 

Bowed  by  the  awful  mystery 
Of  death;  sitting  with  sackcloth  thickly  spread, 
Mourning,  uncomforted,  its  honored  dead. 
Alas  !  alas !  we're  weak  to-day ; 
A  prince  has  gone !  our  country's  stay, 
Its  chosen  chief,  loved  of  the  land, 
Falls  in  his  might  by  murderous  hand ! 
0  God !  for  such  unknown,  unfathomed  grief, 
Thou,  only  Thou,  canst  bring  us  sure  relief. 

The  nation's  heart  so  late  with  victory  clad, 
Lies  bleeding  'neuth  a  ponderous  cross, 
Crushed,  broken  by  its  mighty  loss. 

0  Lord,  our  strength,  to  Thee  we  turn !  for  though 

Satanic  hatred  aimed  the  fatal  blow, 


86  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Thy  wisdom  didst  permit  the  deed; 

In  its  Thy  sovereign  will  we  read. 

Thou  hast  afflicted !  Thou  canst  heal ; 

Thou  sendest  grief,  Thy  love  reveal. 
0 !  calm  our  spirits,  quench  the  revengeful  thought, 
We  would  be  still  and  trust  Thee  as  we  ought. 

Man  dies,  the  highest — but  the  Eternal  lives. 

Thou  Chief  Supreme,  our  Ruler,  still 

Our  destiny  will  hold,  fulfil. 
Though  treason's  factions  'gainst  us  madly  rage, 
Thou  canst  their  wrath  restrain,  our  grief  assuage. 

Thus  far,  no  farther  can  they  go. 

In  Thee,  0  let  this  nation  trust; 

And  now,  from  martyred  mercy's  dust, 
Rise  to  a  loftier  faith,  a  courage  strong, 
To  battle  firmly  'gainst  our  country's  wrong. 

Nerve  Thou   each   heart,  guide  Thou   each  faltering 
arm! 

Without  Thee,  chaos  will  prevail ; 

With  Thee  our  cause  can  never  fail. 
God  of  the  Right !  0  save  our  stricken  land ! 
Vengeance  is  Thine,  we  leave  it  in  Thy  hand. 

No  martyr's  blood  is  shed  in  vain ; 

May  ours  wipe  out  foul  treason's  stain; 

And  our  dear  land  to  peace  restore, 

To  know  disunion  nevermore. 
Grant  this,  0  Lord !  and  we  will  meekly  bow 
And  kiss  the  rod  that  smites  so  sorely  now. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  87 


By    ALBERT    S.   EVANS. 

ANE  mournful  wail  is  heard  from  shore  to  shore; 
-      A  Nation's  heart  is  stricken  to  the  core; 
And  Freedom,  kneeling,  with  uncovered  head, 
Weeps  by  the  altar  of  our  Country's  dead. 

0  God,  who  suffered  this  for  purpose  high ! 
Teach  us  like  him  to  live,  like  him  to  die, 
True  to  the  last  to  duty  and  to  right, 
Trusting  to  Thee  the  issue  of  the  fight. 

"Good  night  to  thee,  hero,  good  night  to  thee,  sage! 
Good  night  to  thy  form,  but  good  morn  to  thy  fame ; 
Pass  on  with  thy  visor  up,  from  age  unto  age : 
Not  a  sentry  to  challenge  thy  deeds  or  thy  name." 

San   Francisco. 

By  EVA. 

C\  LAD  anthems  filled  the  air, 
^    Mingled  with  tears  and  prayer, 

Through  this  great  land. 
"All  now  seemed  well  with  us," 
God  had  defended  us, 
His  banner  over  us, 

Held  by  Love's  hand. 

From  out  this  bright'ning  sky, 
When  joy  and  peace  seemed  nigh, 
Burst  forth  dread  hate ! 


POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 

Our  chief,  in  black  laid  low ! 
By  the  assassin's  blow! 
Who  can  guide  safely  now 
Our  Ship  of  State  ? 

And  0 !  a  dark,  deep  stain 
Rests  on  thine  honored  name, 

My  native  land ! 
With  shame  thy  head  is  bent, 
Thy  heart  with  grief  is  rent, 
By  this  great  judgment,  sent 

By  God's  own  hand. 

Help  us,  our  fathers'  God, 
Humbly  to  kiss  Thy  rod, 

Though  we  in  pain 
Mourn  for  the  noble  dead, 
Who  hath  for  freedom  bled, — 
Let  not  his  blood  be  shed, 

Great  God,  in  vain. 

Laurel  and  myrtle  now 
Crown  his  immortal  brow, 

On  that  blest  shore. 
There,  from  all  toil  and  pain, 
Rests  now  his  weary  brain, 
Our  loss  will  be  his  gain, 

Blessed  evermore. 


MEMORY  OF  ABE  AH  AM  LINCOLN.  89 


By    IOLA. 

A     PALL  of  deep  darkness  is  spread  o'er  the  land, 

While  shadows,  grim  shadows,  like  sentinels  stand : 
A  storm  of  wild  fury  has  burst  on  our  head, 
And  silent  we  sit,  'mid  the  shades  of  the  dead. 

The  mighty  has  fallen !  the  noble,  the  brave, 
The  hero  God  gave  us  the  country  to  save : 
Struck  down  in  a  moment  by  one  fatal  blow, 
Has  left  us  surrounded  by  trappings  of  woe. 

Ah !  never  before  was  our  country,  I  ween, 
Of  a  deed  of  such  horror  and  blackness  the  scene ; 
E'en  the  stars  on  our  banner  grew  suddenly  pale, 
As  the  telegraph  flashed  out  the  strange,  fearful  tale. 

A  nation  of  mourners !  a  nation  in  tears, 
For  the  leader  lay  low  in  the  bloom  of  his  years ! 
Ay !  weep,  0  Columbia !  weep,  weep  o'er  the  slain, 
For  the  like  of  the  fallen  we'll  ne'er  see  again. 

He's  gone !  our  loved  father !  no  breath  on  his  name, 

To  sully  his  glory,  or  tarnish  his  fame; 

His  deeds  are  immortal,  his  record  as  bright 

As  the  beams  of  the  morn,  or  the  sun's  brilliant  light. 

He  went,  ere  the  fire  of  his  eye  had  grown  dim, 
His  cup  full  of  honor !  ay !  full  to  the  brim ! 
He  went  when  the  love  of  the  noble  and  brave, 
Seemed  armor  sufficient  to  shield  and  to  save. 

8  * 


90  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

He  went  with  the  blessings  of  millions  he'd  freed 
From  the  tyrant's  strong  grasp,  in  the  hour  of  their  need ; 
"  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln !"  this,  this  was  the  cry, 
The  prayer  that  from  thousands  ascended  on  high. 

He  went !  our  brave  Eagle !  he  soared  to  the  sun ! 
The  warfare  accomplished,  the  victory  won ! 
0,  weep  not  for  him !  but  ah !  our  loved  land — 
How  can  she  spare  now  that  firm  guiding  hand. 


Ah !  cravens !  base  cravens !  that  struck  the  foul  blow, 
That  has  draped  the  whole  land  in  the  symbols  of  woe; 
Laugh!  laugh  at  your  work!  rejoice  at  the  deed, 
But  know  that  of  justice,  you'll  reap  the  full  meed. 

"Escape!"  no  escape!  there's  a  God  in  the  sky, 
Whose  throne  of  strict  justice  stands  firmly  on  high, 
He's  already  placed  Cain's  mark  on  your  brow, 
'Twill  burn  there  forever,  'tis  burning  there  now. 

"Tyrannis!"  "tyrannis!"  'tis  false  as  the  soul, 
O'er  which  the  dark  billows  shall  fearfully  roll ! 
"  Sic  semper  tyrannis,"  it's  brought  you  your  doom ! 
E'en  now  lowers  o'er  you,  the  shade  of  the  tomb. 

Rest,  rest  thee,  loved  chieftain !  for  thee  rest  is  meet ! 
After  labor  and  turmoil,  such  rest  must  be  sweet : 
Thou  has  gone  to  the  land  where  foul  treason  is  not, 
Thou  hast  gone  where  no  traitors  disturb  thy  blest  lot. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  91 

Pass  on  with  your  leader !  bear,  bear  him  away ! 
The  tears  of  a  nation  are  falling  to-day : 
Tread  softly,  tread  softly,  your  feet  on  his  sod, 
And  leave  him,  the  hero,  to  glory  and  God. 


ANONYMOUS. 

HHHANK  God  they  chose  this  sacred  day 

To  seal  the  covenant  with  blood, 
We  might  not  else  His  wond'rous  way, 
Through  waters  deep,  have  understood. 

They  said  of  old  that  "this  was  He 

Who  Israel  should  redeem,  we  thought;" 

Nor  saw  in  death  the  mighty  key 
To  all  a  Saviour's  life  had  wrought. 

Man's  wrath  but  praised  his  Maker's  power, 

And  worked  the  will  it  would  defy. 
"  Oh  fools  and  slow  of  heart,"  this  hour, 
Who  do  not  see  deliverance  nigh! 

The  stroke  that  aimed  at  Judah's  heart 

Shall  set  a  nation  fully  free; 
This  death  shall  do  its  noble  part 

In  the  great  work  of  liberty. 

Oh !  Easter,  glorious  Easter  morn, 
I  see  thee  on  the  world  arise; 

When  mighty  nations  yet  unborn 
Shall  lift  their  pean  to  the  skies ! 


92  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

And  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  every  drop 
Of  patriot  blood  this  day  has  shed; 

And  for  the  trumpet-stirring  voice 

That  loudest  speaks,  "  He  being  dead." 

By  RICHARD  STORRS  WILLIS. 

"VTOW  wake  the  requiem's  solemn  moan, 
•*•    For  him  whose  patriot  task  is  done ! 
A  nation's  heart  stands  still  to-day 
With  horror,  o'er  his  martyred  clay ! 

O,  God  of  peace,  repress  the  ire, 
Which  fills  our  souls  with  vengeful  fire ! 
Vengeance  is  Thine, — and  sovereign  might, 
Alone,  can  such  a  crime  requite ! 

Farewell,  thou  good  and  guileless  heart ! 
The  manliest  tears  for  thee  must  start ! 
E'en  those  at  times  who  blamed  thee  here, 
Now  deeply  sorrow  o'er  thy  bier. 

0  Jesus,  grant  him  sweet  repose, 
Who,  like  Thee,  seemed  to  love  his  foes ! 
Those  foes,  like  Thine,  their  wrath  to  spend, 
Have  slain  their  best,  their  firmest  friend. 

(GLORIA.) 

Praise  God  from  whom  all  chast'nings  flow ! 
Praise  Him  all  sorrowing  hearts  below ! 
Praise  Him  above  ye  martyred  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  93 


By   B.    F.   TAYLOR. 

SPHERE'S  a  burden  of  grief  on  the  breeezes  of  spring, 
And  a  song  of  regret  from  the  bird  on  its  wing; 
There's  a  pall  on  the  sunshine  and  over  the  flowers, 
And  a  shadow  of  graves  on  these  spirits  of  ours; 
For  a  star  hath  gone  out  from  the  night  of  our  sky, 
On  whose  brightness  we  gazed  as  the  war-cloud  rolled  by; 
So  tranquil  and  steady  and  clear  were  its  beams, 
That  they  fell  like  a  vision  of  peace  on  our  dreams. 

A  heart  that  we  knew  had  been  true  to  our  weal, 
And  a  hand  that  was  steadily  guiding  the  wheel; 
A  name  never  tarnished  by  falsehood  or  wrong, 
That  had  dwelt  in  our  hearts  like  a  soul-stirring  song : 
Ah !  that  pure,  noble  spirit  has  gone  to  its  rest, 
And  the  true  hand  lies  nerveless  and  cold  on  his  breast ; 
But  the  name  and  the  memory — these  never  will  die, 
But  grow  brighter  and  dearer  as  ages  go  by. 

Yet  the  tears  of  a  nation  fall  over  the  dead, 

Such  tears  as  a  nation  before  never  shed, 

For  our  cherished  one  fell  by  a  dastardly  hand, 

A  martyr  to  truth  and  the  cause  of  the  land; 

And  a  sorrow  has  surged  like  the  waves  to  the  shore 

When  the  breath  of  the  tempest  is  sweeping  them  o'er ; 

And  the  heads  of  the  lofty  and  lowly  have  bowed, 

As  the  shaft  of  the  lightning  sped  out  from  the  cloud. 

Not  gathered,  like  Washington,  home  to  his  rest, 
When  the  sun  of  his  life  was  far  down  in  the  West; 


94  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  stricken  from  earth  in  the  midst  of  his  years, 
With  the  Canaan  in  view,  of  his  prayers  and  his  tears. 
And  the  people  whose  hearts  in  the  wilderness  failed, 
Sometimes,  when  the  stars  of  their  promise  had  paled, 
Now,  stand  by  his  side  on  the  mount  of  his  fame, 
And  yield  him  their  hearts  in  a  grateful  acclaim. 

Yet  there  on  the  mountain,  our  Leader  must  die, 
With  the  fair  land  of  promise  spread  out  to  his  eye; 
His  work  is  accomplished,  and  what  he  has  done 
Will  stand  as  a  monument  under  the  sun ; 
And  his  name,  reaching  down  through  the  ages  of  time, 
Will  still  through  the  age  of  eternity  shine — 
Like  a  star,  sailing  on  through  the  depths  of  the  blue, 
On  whose  brightness  we  gaze  every  evening  anew. 

His  white  tent  is  pitched  on  the  beautiful  plain, 
Where  the  tumult  of  battle  comes  never  again, 
Where  the  smoke  of  the  war-cloud  ne'er  darkens  the  air, 
Nor  falls  on  the  spirit  a  shadow  of  care. 
The  song  of  the  ransomed  enrapture  his  ear, 
And  he  heeds  not  the  dirges  that  roll  for  him  here; 
In  the  calm  of  his  spirit,  so  strange  and  sublime, 
He  is  lifted  far  over  the  discords  of  time. 

Then  bear  him  home  gently,  great  son  of  the  West, 

'Mid  her  fair  blooming  prairies  lay  Lincoln  to  rest; 

From  the  nation  who  loved  him,  she  takes  to  her  trust, 

And  will  tenderly  garner  the  consecrated  dust. 

A  Mecca  his  grave  to  the  people  shall  be, 

And  a  shrine  evermore  for  the  hearts  of  the  free. 


MEMORY  OF  ABKAHAM  LINCOLN.  95 


By    GEORGE   ADAMS. 

OONS  of  Freedom,  bow  the  head, 
^  Silently  and  softly  tread; 
Let  no  sound  of  joy  arise : 
Sorrow  dims  a  nation's  eyes. 
See,  her  mighty  chief  lies  low, 
See  her  leader's  life-blood  flow, 
And  within  her  stately  halls, 
Dark  as  night  the  shadow  falls. 

Sons  of  Freedom,  bow  the  head, 

Silently  and  softly  tread. 

Chosen  by  a  nation's  voice, 
Leader  of  his  people's  choice, 
In  his  country's  darkest  hour 
See  him  wield  her  mighty  power, 
'Midst  her  best  and  bravest  stand, 
Freely  giving  heart  and  hand. 
Wise  in  council,  brave  in  deed, 
See  him  for  his  children  bleed: 
Chosen  by  a  nation's  voice, 
Leader  of  his  people's  choice. 

Not  'mid  battle's  raging  strife 
Did  the  hero  yield  his  life ; 
Nor  with  thousands  round  him  lying, 
Bleeding,  fainting,  groaning,  dying; 
Not  while  darkening  overhead, 
Far  and  near  the  war-cloud  spread, 


POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

While  a  world  in  wonder  gazed, 
Awe-struck,  breathless  and  amazed — 
Not  'mid  battle's  raging  strife 
Did  the  hero  yield  his  life, 

But  'mid  cheers  of  victory, 
On  the  day  of  jubilee, 
While  triumphant  shouts  were  ringing, 
Every  voice  in  gladness  singing, 
Bright  eyes  as  the  starlight  gleaming, 
Every  face  with  sunshine  beaming, 
Young  and  old  their  praise  bestowing, 
And  each  heart  with  joy  o'erflowing 

In  the  'midst  of  victory, 

On  the  day  of  jubilee. 

Rise,  ye  brave  of  every  nation, 
Rise  and  brand  with  execration 
Foulest  deed  and  basest  plan 
E'er  conceived  by  man  'gainst  man. 
Let  your  voices  to  the  skies, 
Like  Niagara's  thunder  rise, 
Breathing  curses  loud  and  long 
,'Gainst  the  fiends  that  did  the  wrong : 
Rise,  ye  brave  of  every  nation, 
Rise  and  brand  with  execration. 

Bright  around  the  mighty  dead, 
See  a  glorious  halo  shed : 
Hark  !  a  myriad  voices  rise, 
Waft  his  name  beyond  the  skies, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  97 

Mingling  their  glad  songs  of  praise 
With  high  heaven's  angelic  lays : 
"  'Tis,"  dark  Afric's  sons  have  cried, 
"  For  us  Lincoln  lived  and  died." 
Bright  around  the  mighty  dead 
See  a  glorious  halo  shed. 

Now  he,  entered  into  rest, 
With  earth's  noblest,  bravest,  best, 
Hears  the  Master's  words,  "Well  done. 
Good  and  faithful  servant,  come, 
Enter  thou  into  my  joy, 
Dwell  in  bliss  without  alloy, 
Heaven's  great  joy  shall  fill  thy  soul 
While  eternal  ages  roll." 
He  has  entered  into  rest, 
With  earth's  noblest,  bravest,  best. 

Belleville,   Canada  West. 


ANONYMOUS. 

rPHE  nation  groans  with  one  indignant  sob, 

-    A  great,  true  heart  hath  ceased  on  earth  to  throb 
Not  as  in  nature's  order  kindly  given, 
Sinking  in  peace  to  wake  again  in  heaven — 
But  by  a  murderer's  hand  all  wildly  hurled 
Into  the  mysteries  of  another  world ! 
Who  does  not  feel  that  now  the  deed  is  done, 
How  many  wronged  that  noble,  virtuous  one  ? 
Who  does  not  fear  that  none  can  stem  the  flood 
Of  vengeance  born  from  that  dark  deed  of  blood  ? 
9  E 


98  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Was  there  an  act  of  his  to  wound  a  heart — 

A  kindness  sought  in  which  he  had  no  part? 

Can  we  remember  aught  but  mindfulness 

To  pardon,  not  to  punish  in  distress? 

And  the  light  story  was  it  not  a  wile 

From  sorrow  many  a  bosom  to  beguile  ? 

Assassin  !  he  had  gone  the  voyage  through, 

What  could  his  death  avail  to  such  as  you? 

Safely  he  guided  at  the  tossing  helm, 

Through  all  the  storms  that  threatened  to  o'erwhelm ; 

Now  he  was  just  to  find  a  sweet  release, 

An  anchor  cast  upon  the  shore  of  Peace. 

Illustrious  man !  so  simple  yet  so  great, 

The  nation  is  to-day  disconsolate, 

And  until  now  we  feel  thou  art  removed, 

We  never  knew  how  much  thou  wert  beloved. 

New    Orleans. 


By  GEORGE  G.  W.   MORGAN. 

TTE  is  gone;  he  is  dead;  his  pure  spirit  has  fled 
-*-1-     From  this  earth  full  of  sorrow  and  woe; 
By  angels  now  led  to  his  presence  who  said : 
"  'Tis  to  gain  you  a  welcome  I  go." 

In  the  realms  of  the  blest  his  pure  soul  will  find  rest, 
Then  give  way  to  no  more  of  your  sorrow, 

'Tis  a  blessing  confessed — the  first  are  the  best — 
To  make  «s  more  willing  to  follow. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  99 


ANONYMOUS. 

T  OWER  the  starry  flag 
-^  Amid  a  sovereign  people's  lamentation 
For  him  the  honored  ruler  of  the  nation ; 
Lower  the  starry  flag ! 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd 
Slowly  and  mournfully  in  every  steeple, 
Let  them  make  known  the  sorrow  of  the  people ; 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd ! 

Lower  the  starry  flag, 

And  let  the  solemn,  sorrowing  anthem,  pealing, 
Sound  from  the  carven  choir  to  fretted  ceiling; 

Lower  the  starry  flag ! 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd, 
And  let  the  mournful  organ  music,  rolling, 
Tune  with  the  bells  in  every  steeple  tolling; 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd  ! 

Lower  the  starry  flag; 

The  nation's  honored  chief  in  death  is  sleeping, 
And  for  our  loss  our  eyes  are  wet  with  weeping; 

Lower  the  starry  flag! 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd ! 
His  honest,  manly  heart  has  ceased  its  beating, 
His  lips  no  more  shall  speak  the  kindly  greeting; 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd! 


100  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 

Lower  the  starry  flag.; 

No  more  shall  sound  his  voice  in  scorn  of  error, 
Filling  the  traitor's  heart  with  fear  and  terror; 

Lower  the  starry  flag ! 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd : 
He  reverenced  the  gift  which  God  has  given. 
Freedom  to  all,  the  priceless  boon  of  Heaven. 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd  ! 

Lower  the  starry  flag ! 

His  dearest  hopes  were  wedded  with  the  nation, 
He  valued  more  than  all  the  land's  salvation; 

Lower  the  starry  flag ! 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd; 
His  name  shall  live  on  History's  brightest  pages, 
His  voice  shall  sound  through  Time's  remotest  ages; 

Let  the  great  bells  be  toll'd ! 


ANONYMOUS. 

"BENEATH  the  vast  and  vaulted  dome 
•*-*  That  copes  the  Capitol,  he  lies ; 
It  is  a  dreary,  dreary  night; 
The  stars  in  their  eternal  home 
Seem  like  the  sad  ethereal  eyes 
Of  seraphs,  filled  with  tender  light. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  101 

The  Capitol  is  wrapped  in  mist; 

Strangely  the  shadows  come  and  go — 

The  dome  seems  floating  into  air, 
Upborne  by  unseen  hands,  I  wist — 
In  solemn  state  he  lies  below, 
His  pure  hands  folded  as  in  prayer. 

He  lies  in  solemn  state,  alone — 

Alone  with  only  silence  there — 

Alone  with  lofty  lamps  that  rim 
Almost  the  very  coping  stone; 
Yet  not  alone,  for  all  the  air 
Is  filled  with  tender  thoughts  of  him. 

And  all  night  long  the  marble  floors 

Have  echoed  to  the  gentle  tread 

Of  blessed  and  immortal  feet; 
And  through  the  open  corridors 
The  mighty  and  illustrious  dead 
Have  thronged  all  night  his  face  to  greet. 

And  they  have  bent,  full-browed  with  pain, 
And  gazed  through  their  celestial  tears 
Upon  the  face  so  dear  to  them — 

Upon  the  man  whose  heart  was  fain 

Above  all  hearts  these  latter  years 

To  be  like  his  of  Bethlehem. 

And  so  our  heads  are  bowed  with  grief 
Because  we  loved  him,  and  because 
But  yesterday,  this  great  man  stood 
9  * 


102  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Of  many  states  the  perfect  chief, 
Dispensing  justice  and  the  laws, 
And  mindful  of  the  public  good. 

Alas !  it  is  a  dreary  night ; 
For  he  we  loved  so  much  now  lies 
Beneath  the  vast  and  vaulted  dome; 
And  in  his  eyes  there  is  no  light — 
No  light  is  in  those  loving  eyes 
Which  kindliness  had  made  her  home. 


By  OLIVER    PERRY  MANLOVE. 

/^VUR  nation  is  shrouded  in  gloom 

And  sorrow,  as  never  before; 

A  great  man  has  gone  to  the  shades  of  the  tomb, 
That  no  earthly  beacon  can  ever  illume 

This  side  of  eternity's  shore. 

Struck  down  by  a  murderer's  hand — 

A  deed  that  but  demons  could  do — 
Urged  on  and  supported  by  treason's  black  band, 
Filling  with  mourning  our  beautiful  land, 

And  draping  our  Red,  White  and  Blue. 

Never  more  will  his  voice  be  heard — 

That  voice  which  we  loved  to  hear; 
But  mem'ry  will  treasure  away  every  word, 
That  our  hearts  in  the  bygone  so  deeply  has  stirr'd. 
While  we  drop  the  sorrowing  tear. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  103 

No  more  on  his  face  will  we  gaze, 

Smiling  in  heaven's  soft  light; 
It  never  again  will  be  warmed  with  the  rays 
Of  living  fire  from  the  life-blush  blaze, 

To  make  its  loved  features  bright. 

Oh !  every  pulse  is  a  rest ! 

The  burden  of  life  is  now  o'er; 
His  spirit  has  gone  from  his  noble  breast, 
To  dwell  in  the  holy  land  of  the  blest, 

Forever  and  evermore. 


By    S.  A- 


TTUSHED  be  the  voice  of  mirth — each  pean  stilled, 

And  let  us  weep  our  martyred  Chief  beside; 
While  every  heart  with  bitter  grief  is  filled : 
A  noble  hero  in  the  cause  of  truth  hath  died. 

How  shall  we  mourn  him  ? — he  who  for  the  right. 

A  firm,  undaunted  champion  was  found, 
And  trusting  in  the  Lord  Jehovah's  might, 

Stood,  while  opposing  hosts  were  gathered  round. 

How  shall  we  mourn  him  ? — how  pay  the  tribute  due, 

Not  to  a  hero,  statesman,  chief  alone, 
But  to  a  loving  father,  good  and  true, 

To  one  in  whom  each  kindly  virtue  shone  ? 

How  shall  we  mourn  him  ?     Bleeding  hearts  reply, 
With  all  the  silent  eloquence  of  tears; 


104  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Feeling  too  deep  for  language,  must  deny 
The  full  expression  of  our  griefs  and  fears. 

How  shall  we  mourn  him?     "With  a  lofty  trust; 

The  Arm  Omnipotent  shall  be  our  stay; 
The  cause  in  which  he  fell  is  good  and  just, 

And   through   the    clouds,  faith    points    to    brighter 
day. 


By  REV.   N.  A.   PRINCE. 

TTTAIL  not  the  dead,  wail  not  the  brave, 
*  *       Wail  not  the  just,  wail  not  the  wise; 
Wail  not  the  good,  wail  not  the  great ! 

The  dead  yet  lives — heeds  not  the  grave — 
Beyond  the  strife,  beyond  the  skies, 
A  martyr  crowned  in  glorious  state ! 

The  chieftain  sleeps,  but  millions  wake; 

The  night  comes  down,  but  hastes  the  morn, 
And  drives  his  burning  chariot  far ! 

Th'  oppressed  rejoice,  mad  despots  quake, 
Bright  banners  rise — the  land  adorn — 
And  Freedom  sings  in  every  star. 

Almighty  God,  eternal  King, 

Whose  wisdom  guides,  whose  arm  defends 
The  nation  in  distress  and  fear, 

Accept  the  love  and  praise  we  bring! 
On  Thee  alone  our  hope  depends, 
Our  Sun  and  Shield,  forever  near. 


MEMORY  OF   AB11MIAM   LINCOLN.  105 


DE    PKOFUNDIS. 

By    JEANIE    G . 

A     SOUND  of  wailing  fills  the  stricken  land, 

O'er  our  bowed  heads  the  waves  of  sorrow  roll ; 
Justice  and  grief  majestic,  hand  in  hand, 
Intone  a  requiem  for  our  martyr's  soul. 

A  nation's  heart  bemoans  the  mighty  dead, 
Reft  in  the  hour  of  priceless  victory  won ; 

And  Liberty,  lamenting,  droops  her  head 
Above  the  ashes  of  her  noblest  son. 

The  starry  banner  sadly  floats  above, 

The  minute  guns  come  booming  on  the  ear; 

Millions  of  hearts,  o'er-charged  with  grief  and  love, 
Entreat  to  lay  a  flower  upon  his  bier. 

Behold  the  mournful  pageant  passing  by ! 

Our  streaming  eyes  and  quivering  lips  can  tell 
No  purer  soul  have  angels  born  on  high 

Than  his  we  loved  so  fervently  and  well. 

Like  incense  wafted  to  the  heavenly  shore, 
Are  loving  prayers  of  those  he  died  to  save, 

Whose  clanking  chains  shall  fetter  them  no  more : — 
The  ransomed  freedmen  bend  o'er  Lincoln's  grave ! 

Weep,  freedom !     When  in  onward  march  of  years. 

The  pen  of  history  tells  the  world  his  story ; 

E* 


106  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Few,  few  can  read  the  record  but  with  tears, 
Though  twined  his  name  with  an  immortal  glory ! 

Oh  !  tenderly  we'll  bear  him  to  his  rest, 

And  plant  rich  seeds,  with  spring  to  rise  in  bloom ; 

They'll  smile  in  dewy  sweetness  on  his  breast, 
Whispering,  "RESURGAM"  from  the  patriot's  tomb! 


By  H.  S.  S- 


A     NATION  mourns  to-day, 
-*"*-     Our  hero-chief  lies  low; 
Cursed  be  the  hearts  that  planned  the  deed- 
The  arm  which  dealt  the  blow. 

We  bow  in  reverent  awe 

To  G-od's  supreme  decree; 
Unable  now  His  ways  to  scan, 

His  mighty  plans  to  see ! 

Our  grief  no  tongue  can  tell, 

Let  traitors  all  beware; 
The  POISONED  CHALICE  that  we  drain 

May  soon  be  THEIRS  TO  SHARE! 

As  one,  each  loyal  heart 

Beats  with  fresh  love  to-day, 
For  him  who  through  the  storm  and  strife 

Has  led  us  on  our  way. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  107 

Struck  down  by  traitor  hands, 

Thy  spirit,  kind  and  true, 
Shalt  hover  o'er  from  shore  to  shore ; 

Bid  each  his  work  to  do. 

Thine  was  a  holy  cause, 

And  thine  the  heart  to  see ; 
While  millions  yet  unborn  shall  bless 

The  MARTYR  FOR  THE  FREE  ! 

Rest,  weary  pilgrim,  rest ! 

Thy  "well  done"  work  is  o'er; 
Amid  the  band,  in  angel  land, 

Thou'lt  REST  FOREVERMORE! 


ANONYMOUS. 

1/TOURNFULLY,  tenderly,  bear  on  the  dead; 
•***•     All  his  labors  are  ended,  his  spirit  has  sped, 
Beyond  the  dark  river,  from  confines  of  clay, 
Upward  to  regions  of  unclouded  day. 

Mournfully,  tenderly,  solemn  and  slow, 
Tears  are  bedewing  the  path  as  ye  go ; 
Millions  of  freemen  are  mourners  to-day, 
Gently  and  gratefully,  0  bear  him  away. 

Mournfully,  tenderly,  gaze  on  that  brow, 
Beautiful  is  it  in  quietude  now ; 
One  look,  and  then  lay  the  revered  to  his  rest, 
A  broad  land  of  freedom  begirding  his  breast. 


108  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Soon  shall  we  bury  him;  up  and  depart 

To  life  and  duty  with  undismayed  heart, 

Fear  not,  for  as  sure  as  God  dwells  in  the  skies, 

From  the  blood  of  our  martyr  fair  harvests  shall  rise. 

Peace,  peace  to  thy  spirit,  thou  servant  of  God, 
The  vale  thou  hast  trodden,  what  numbers  have  trod, 
Thou  wilt  greet  them  with  joy  in  the  kingdom  above, 
And  thy  crown  will  be  fadeless  through  infinite  love. 


By  C.   D.  G- 


TTE  wore  nor  crown  nor  purple;  held  no  state 

Hedged  by  the  spectre  of  the  "Right  Divine" 

That  haunts  the  visions  of  a  kingly  line : 
He  was  his  people's  chieftain,  and  their  mate; 
Chosen  from  their  midst  as  meet  to  bear  the  weight 
Of  office  worthily ;  ay,  more !  approved 

By  sorest  trial  steadfast  to  the  trust 
His  worth  had  won !     To  save  the  land  he  loved, 

Amid  the  storm  of  strife,  the  heat  of  lust, 

And  envy's  gloom,  and  faction's  blinding  dust, 
He  kept  the  unflinching  tenor  of  his  path 

Towards  its  bright  zenith — till  the  arch-fiend's  spite 
Belched,  hot  from  hell,  a  minion  of  his  wrath, 

With  one  fell  blow  to  plunge  a  world  in  night! 


MEMORY  OF  ABE  AH  AM  LINCOLN.  109 


By  JOHN  S.   BENSON. 

T  IKE  as  th'  fixed  star  shines  constant  in  the  skies, 
-"     When  night  descending  drives  the  sun  to  rest, 
And  beams  benignly  on  uplifted  eyes, 

As  day,  disrobed,  lies  slumbering  in  the  west — 
Like  as  th'  fixed  star  unseated  in  the  spheres 

And  hurled  to  chaos,  still  leaves  radiant  trace 
Of  glory,  lasting  as  the  hoary  years, 

Undimmed  by  ages,  and  unmissed  in  space : 
So  lived  our  President;  as  calmly  great, 

A  nation's  sovereign  orb,  when  robbed  of  day, 
His  lustrous  soul  the  tranquil  light  of  state, 

From  veil  of  eve,  till  morn  put  on  her  ray. 
So  lived  he — lives  his  fadeless  reflex  still, 

As  centuries  go  round  and  cycles  fill. 


By    A.   McBOYLE. 

T\EAD !  and  a  nation  mourns  to-day 

-*-^  A  great  man  slain  by  a  traitor's  hand; 

Dead !  oh  our  God !  to  Thee  we  pray : 

Thou  hear'st  the  clang  of  tolling  bell, 

The  mournful  cadence  of  its  knell 

Speaks  woe,  but  Thou  do'st  all  things  well. 

Dead !  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame, 
When,  under  Thee,  his  patriot  hand 

Had  well-nigh  quenched  rebellion's  flame, 

That  so  hath  scorched  our  bleeding  land. 
10 


110  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

With  heavy  hearts  and  tearful  eyes, 
To  Thee  a  stricken  people  come; 

Thou  see'st  their  tears  and  hear'st  their  sighs; 
This  woe  that  almost  strikes  us  dumb 
Speaks  in  the  hushed  and  silent  hum 
Of  minute  gun  and  muffled  drum. 

Dead!  warm-hearted,  kind  and  true, 
Firm,  faithful,  honest,  good  and  brave, 

We  little  thought  this  April's  dew 
Would  damp  our  ruler's  grave. 

Dead!  when  the  flag  he  loved  so  well 
In  triumph  waved;  when  coming  peace 

Seemed  near  to  stay  the  troubled  swell 

Whose  waves  have  rolled  from  sea  to  sea; 
0  God!  whate'er  Thy  purpose  be, 
Help  us  to  be  resigned  to  Thee. 

San   Francisco. 


By  S.  G.   W.   BENJAMIN. 

f  ET  the  nation  weep, 

As  they  bear  the  martyr, 
To  his  last,  long  sleep ! 

Ay,  let  the  nation  weep ! 
Another  such  as  he 
We  nevermore  shall  see 
This  side  eternity. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  Ill 

Ay,  let  the  nation  weep, 

And  let  the  slow  bells  toll 

For  the  noblest  soul 

That  ever  dwelt  in  man, 

Or  ever  led  the  van 

Of  Freedom's  hosts  to  victory, 

And  rang  the  charge  of  Liberty. 

Well  may  the  nation  weep 

And  shudder  at  the  stroke 

That  all  their  slumbering  wrath  awoke. 

What  wretch  so  impious  as  to  dare 

To  smite  the  leader  of  the  people's  choice, 

Or  seek  to  harm  a  single  hair 

Of  him  whose  heart,  whose  hand,  whose  voice, 

Were  all  employed  to  work  the  nation's  good, 

And  stop  the  flow  of  fratricidal  blood? 

Perchance  he  did  not  seem 

So  great  to  those  who  deem 

A  traitor  or  a  Nero 

May  still  appear  a  hero, 

If  he  but  wear  a  classic  face 

Or  ape  the  superficial  grace 

That  marks  the  scion  of  a  titled  race ; 

Not  such  was  he  for  whom  we  mourn ; 

From  wealth  or  rank  he  was  not  born, 

Nor  heir  to  patrimonial  lands 

Tilled  by  the  bondman's  weary  hands; 

His  was  the  celestial  beauty 

Of  a  soul  that  does  its  duty; 


112  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Noble  patriot,  husband,  father, 

He  did  not  strive  to  gather 

The  laurels  of  a  wild  ambition, 

That  only  yield  a  vain  fruition. 

To  benefit  mankind — this  was  his  aim, 

To  labor  and  to  live  unstained  with  blame — 

He  died  without  a  blot  upon  his  name. 

Let  all  the  weary  and  oppressed, 

From  North  and  South  and  East  and  West, 

For  whom  his  great  heart  yearned, 

For  whom  his  spirit  burned, 

To  give  their  sufferings  rest, 

Let  all  arise  with  lamentation, 

And  with  his  own  beloved  nation 

Bequeath  the  fame 

Of  Lincoln's  name — 

A  heritage  for  veneration — 

To  the  remotest  generation. 

Ay,  let  the  nation  weep, 

"While  the  slow  bells  toll, 

And  the  cannon  roll 

For  the  funeral  knoll 

Of  his  mighty  soul ! 

Ye  cannot  break  the  slumber  deep 

That  wraps  his  limbs  in  quiet  sleep; 

He  cannot  hear 

The  crowds  that  tread 

Around  his  bier, 

Nor  see  the  tears  they  shed; 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  113 

For  he  nevermore  shall  dwell 
Among  the  people  that  he  loved  so  well; 
Let  the  nation's  sorrow  have  its  way 
For  him  who  was  the  nation's  stay. 

Our  hearts  are  sad,  our  eyes  are  dim; 

We  hoped  long  years  of  rest  for  him, 

To  enjoy  the  peace  for  which  he  wrought, 

The  peace  with  his  own  life-Wood  bought. 

But  he  has  rest, 

Among  the  blest, 

And  with  the  Christ  he  loved. 

Enough — his  work  was  done, 

The  victor's  crown  was  won, 

And  God  himself  removed 

The  patriot-martyr  to  his  home. 

Enough — his  task  was  done; 

For  us  remains  to  guard  his  tomb; 

To  bid  the  willow  wave 

Around  the  sacred  grave 

Of  him  who  loosed  the  slave, 

And  weave  the  fame 

Of  Lincoln's  name 

With  that  of  Washington; 

While  kingdoms  crumble,  old  and  hoary, 

In  a  world  where  all  is  transitory, 

They  shall  ever  shine,  twin  stars  of  glory, 

With  undimnied  splendor,  in  our  nation's  story. 

10  * 


114  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    MRS.  GUSTAVUS    REMAK. 

TTTHAT  mean  these  sad  emblems  of  sorrow,  so  near, 
^  *     The  deep  wail  of  anguish — the  eloquent  tear  ? 
The  furling  of  flags  by  each  patriot  hand — 
The  echo  of  woe  and  dismay  through  the  land  ? 

Why  falters  our  eagle,  just  soaring  on  high? 
Why  trembleth  his  bosom  and  dark  grows  his  eye — 
As  though,  while  unfolding  in  gladness  his  wing, 
He  felt  the  sharp  pang  of  a  traitorous  sting? 

And  why,  where  the  altar  of  Liberty  stands, 

Is    the    goddess    in    tears  ? — why,    with    pale    clasp' d 

hands 

Is  she  kneeling  imploringly,  low  at  her  shrine 
Beseeching  assistance  and  comfort  divine  ? 

Oh !  woeful  the  tidings  these  symbols  impart, 
Oh,  bitter  the  sorrow  oppressing  each  heart ! 
The  chief  of  our  land  has  been  cruelly  slain, 
And  a  nation  of  mourners  is  burdened  with  pain. 

He  is  dead — who  so  earnestly  strove  for  the  right, 
With  conscience  unsullied,  and  pure  as  the  light 
That  glows   from   yon   heaven ! — or   beamed   from   his 

eye 
With  the  truth — he  feared  not  for  his  country  to  die ! 

He  is  dead — a  proud  martyr  for  Liberty's  cause, 
The  champion  of  freedom — unheeding  applause  : — 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  115 

With  his  mantle  of  honor  around  him  he  stood, 
His  high,  steady  purpose — the  country's  best  good. 

He  is  dead — and  for  this  we  are  mourning  to-day, 
For  the  friend  of  tmr  country,  so  soon  passed  away ; — 
While — the  olive  branch  clasped  in  his  generous  hand, 
He  was  wooing  the  angel  of  peace  to  our  land ! 

As  the  eagle,  when  seeking  his  eyrie  on  high, 

Keeps  his  eye  on  the  goal,  as  he  soars  through  the  sky; 

So,  on  through  the  pathway  to  freedom  he  trod, 

Just  gained  the  bright  haven,  then  passed  on  to  God! 

And  now,  though  the  stars  on  our  banner  grow  pale, 
And  the  music  we  hear  is  a  funeral  wail; 
While  millions  are  bending  in  tears  o'er  the  sod — 
Let  us  look  from  his  grave  to  Omnipotent  God! 

God  reigneth !  Creator  and  Ruler  of  all, 
Who  permitteth  "  no  sparrow  unnoticed  to  fall :" 
Whose  love,  from  the  clouds  of  the  gloomiest  night, 
Unfoldeth  the  beams  of  His  heavenly  light ! 

The  nation  still  lives !  let  this  thought  then  inspire 

A  heartfelt  devotion — a  holy  desire : 

United  in  purpose  and  courage  to  be, 

Till  our  land  from  the  thraldom  of  treason  is  free ! 

Oh !  then  shall  our  banner  unstained  wave  on  high, 
Our  eagle  exultingly  soar  through  the  sky; 
Our  land  by  the  precepts  of  freedom  refined 
Be  a  beacon  of  light  and  of  hope  to  mankind. 


116  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    REV.  T.  J.  GREENWOOD. 


!  such  as  nations^  shed  ! 
Tears  for  our  nation's  head, 

In  death  laid  low  ! 

Bend  'neath  our  darkened  skies; 

Bend  where  our  chieftain  lies;  — 

Give  forth  your  tears  and  sighs, 

In  deepest  woe  ! 

Sudden  the  holt  that  fell!— 
Almost  a  nation's  knell  — 

From  treason's  hand! 
Smiting  our  leader  down, 
When  PEACE  with  olive  crown, 
Waited  her  sway  to  own, 

Over  the  land  ! 

THOU,  who  in  cloud  and  flame, 
Writest  Thy  holy  name, 

GOD   OVER    ALL! 
Thou  who  in  time  of  grief 
Givest  alone  relief  — 
Let  e'en  our  prayer  be  brief; 

On  Thee  we  call  ! 

Send  Thou,  0  God,  relief 
To  bosoms  charged  with  grief, 
All  they  can  bear  ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  117 

Pity  their  keen  distress — 
The  stricken  widow  bless, — 
And  the  now  fatherless, — 

Make  them  Thy  care ! 

Quenched,  though  our  nation's  light, 
Upward  the  spirit's  flight, 

Trusting  we  bear ! 
Sod  to  its  native  sod, 
Soul  to  its  FATHER,  GOD, 
Home  to  its  bright  abode, 

On  wings  of  prayer ! 


By   Rev.  SIDNEY    DYER. 

TTTEEP,  oh  land!  'tis  manly  weeping,- 
Every  heart  is  bowed  with  grief ; 
Dead !  oh  dead  !  forever  sleeping, — 

Noblest  man,  our  martyred  chief! 
Earth  ne'er  heard  such  lamentation : 

Never  man  so  vilely  slain ! 
Wept  by  all,  yea,  every  nation 

Thrills  with  one  great  throe  of  pain. 

First  of  men,  without  ambition-; 

Warring,  yet  revenge  unsought; 
Trusted,  proved,  in  each  condition, 

Noblest  still  in  deed  and  thought, 


118  POETICAL    TRIBUTES  TO    THE 

Loving  freedom, — millions  freeing; 

For  the  truth  he  firmly  stood; 
Not  a  prophet,  yet  far-seeing, — 

Loving,  honest,  faithful,  good. 

Ruler,  yet  a  loving  brother, 

Winning  with  such  guileless  art, 
That  we  loved  him  as  another 

Washington,  as  great  in  heart. 
Oh,  what  joy  when  re-confiding 

In  that  well-tried  man,  and  true; 
Well  assured,  his  wisdom  guiding, 

He  would  lead  us  safely  through. 

Soon  the  banner  treason  lowered, 

Proudly  to  the  breeze  unfurled, 
Floats  o'er  Sumter's  walls,  restored, 

Stainless,  to  the  wondering  world. 
Such  his  pledge  when  first  invested 

With  the  sacred  trust  of  power; 
Four  long  years  he  never  rested, 

Till  we  hailed  the  promised  hour. 

Oh,  the  rapturous,  happy  nation, 

He  had  guided  through  the  fight; 
Dreams  of  peace,  a  great  ovation, 

Filled  our  souls  through  all  the  night. 
What  a  fearful,  bloody  morning, 

Darker  than  night's  shadows  fled, 
When  the  tolling  bells  at  dawning, 

Woke  the  nation  : — he  was  dead ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  119 

Still  that  great  ovation  keeping, 

Not  with  shouts,  but  tears  of  woe, 
As,  amidst  a  nation's  weeping, 

Moves  the  funeral,  sad  and  slow. 
Bear  him  to  his  silent  dwelling; 

Wreathe  his  fadeless  diadem; 
While  our  hearts,  with  sadness  swelling, 

Chant  his  peaceful  requiem. 

Rest,  thou  mighty  spirit,  rest  thee ! 

All  thy  work  on  earth  was  done; 
Soar  where  none  will  e'er  molest  thee; 

Wear  the  crown  so  nobly  won. 
Sacred  amaranth  entwining, 

Where  thy  cherished  ashes  lie; 
In  our  hearts  thy  memory  shining; — 

Freedom's  martyr  cannot  die ! 


By  Mr*.  O.  A.  S.    BEALE. 

OILENT  and  mournfully, 
^  Lifting  our  eyes  to  Thee, 

Great  God  above! 
Hear  what  our  hearts  would  pray, 
Touched  by  Thy  hand  to-day — 
Fold  this  dark  grief  away, 

Under  Thy  love: 

Slowly  the  midnight  creeps ! 
Blindly  the  nation  weeps 
Her  idol  slain ! 


120  POETICAL    TRIBUTES  TO   THE 

Swifter  than  eagle's  wing, 
Light  to  our  darkness  bring ! 
Let  freedom  upward  spring! 
Let  justice  reign ! 

Hushed  our  triumphant  notes ! 
Shrouded,  our  banner  floats 

Low  o'er  his  tomb; 
High  as  the  angels  tread, 
God  take  our  noble  dead ! 
Crown  his  immortal  head, 

Undying  bloom ! 

Show  us,  0  loving  God! 
Bending  beneath  Thy  rod, 

All  hearts  as  one — 
Show  us  the  light — the  way ! 
Teach  trusting  lips  to  pray — 
Our  nation's  heart  to  say — 

Thy  icitt  be  done ! 

Thou  art  our  country's  hope ! 
Bear  our  proud  banners  up, 

With  unseen  hand! 
Let  every  heart  be  strong! 
Still  shout  the  victor's  song! 
Each  voice  the  strain  prolong — 

"Our  native  land!" 


MEMO It  Y  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  121 


By  RUTH   N.  CROMWELL. 

ri  IVE  strength,  O  Grod !  so  many  hearts 

Are  prostrate  in  Thy  sight. 
Sustain  with  Thy  o'erruling  hand 
Thro'  this  our  darkest  night! 

But  yesterday  our  flags  waved  high, 
Their  bannered  stars  unfurl'd, 

Each  cluster'd  throng  flashed  forth  the  song- 
Glad  tidings  to  the  world ! 

But  yesterday  hope  dwelt  with  us, 

Our  solace  and  our  shield ; 
And  yesterday,  she  pitched  hef  tent 

On  every  battle  field ! 

She  wrapped  herself  in  starry  robe*. 

She  bade  our  anguish  cease, 
While  on  her  glowing  brow  she  wore 

The  olive  branch  of  peace. 

The  gun  lay  muzzled  at  her  feet, 
Sheathed  was  the  flaming  sword. 

Our  anthems  reached  Thy  crystal  gates — 
Hosanna  to  the  Lord ! 

We  laid  our  burden  in  the  dust — 

We  bade  our  wrath  depart — 
Our  ships  went  freighted  with  the  joy 

That  thrill'd  a  nation's  heart, 
11  F 


122  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

We  worshipped  Thee  with  feast  and  song, 
We  said  this  dread  shall  pass; 

The  memory  of  this  blood  shall  be 
Like  dew  upon  the  grass ! 

Oh !  yesterday,  so  lifted  up, 

So  sacred  in  our  might, 
Give  strength,  0  God  !  so  many  hearts 

Are  prostrate  in  Thy  sight ! 

Our  flags  are  lowered  on  the  earth. 

We  stand  abashed  and  still, 
Our  faded  wreaths  are  thrust  aside, 

0  God!  what  is  Thy  will? 

For  Thou  hast  enter'd  every  door 

Within  this  stricken  land; 
Before  their  dead — confused,  amazed 

The  mighty  millions  stand ! 

We  strive  to  utter  forth  our  thought. 

Our  words  are  weak  and  slow, 
We  strive  to  cover  up  our  grief 

With  the  sumptuousness  of  woe. 

Thanks  to  Thy  grace,  there  needs  no  tongue 

The  nation's  heart  to  probe, 
We  need  no  Antony  to  show 

The  dead  man's  gory  robe ! 

High  as  the  stars  above  our  head, 
Broad  as  the  land  and  sea, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  123 

Vast  as  the  crime  our  souls  deplore, 
So  vast  our  grief  shall  be ! 

Oh,  hapless  land !  how  many  years 

Of  sorrow  and  of  pain, 
How  much  of  life,  and  love,  and  joy, 

How  much  of  waste  and  gain  ? 

How  much  of  sacrifice  and  tears, 

Of  sun,  and  dew,  and  rain, 
Ere  time,  God's  comforter  to  man, 

Shall  wash  away  thy  stain  ? 


By  JABEZ    M.    FISHER. 

A  ROUND  Thy  Throne,  Almighty  God, 
A  weeping  nation  kneels  this  day ; 
Bending  to  kiss  Thy  chast'niug  rod, 
Their  heartfelt,  sacred  homage  pay. 

Grant  comfort  to  the  troubled  heart, — 
Its  lacerated  feelings  calm, — 

Thy  heavenly  influence  impart, 
Dispense  Thy  ever-healing  balm. 

Bright  freedom's  champion, — he  who  led 
The  holy  heaven-directed  band  ' 

Of  slavery's  vanquishers,  is  dead, — 
Slain  by  a  base  assassin's  hand. 


124  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Oh!  reconcile  us  to  the  loss, 

Which  we  this  day  have  met  to  mourn. 
Teach  us  to  bear  the  heavy  cross, 

As  by  Thy  blessed  Son,  'twas  borne. 

Creator  of  the  heavens  above. 

We  kneel  before  Thy  awful  throne, 

To  crave  Thy  holy  care  and  love, 
And  may  Thy  will  O  God.  be  done. 


By    GEORGE    COOPER. 

T^HE  form  that  spoil  th«  Ship  of  State 
Mid  storms  which  threatened  to  o'erwhelm, 
Now  stricken  by  the  hand  of  hate, 
Lies  dead  beside  the  sacred  helm  ! 

Oh !  lay  him  gently  down  to  sleep, 
Beneath  his  hallowed  western  sod; 

Toll,  mournful  bells  !  weep,  nation  weep  ! 
And  leave  the  martyr  to  his  God. 

Now  calmly  moulder  in  the  dust, 
The  gentle  heart,  the  kindly  hand. 

And  purpose  ever  true  and  just, 
That  freedom  gave  to  all  our  land ! 

Our  Father,  hear  a  nation's  prayer, 

And  shield  his  loving  ones  who  mourn  ! 

Oh!  heal  the  bruised  hearts  they  bear, 
And  from  the  darkness  wake  the  dawn  '. 


MEMORY  OF   ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  125 


By  Mrs.   F.   W.  HALL.— Seventy  Years  of  Age. 

~\TES !    wreath  the  harp  with  summer  flowers, 
•*•      Let  music  breathe  her  sweetest  strain ; 
Let  gladness  wing  the  passing  hours, 
For  blessed  peace  returns  again. 

Long  hath  the  war-cloud  o'er  us  hung, 
And  brothers  met  in  murderous  hate; 

With  anguish,  countless  hearts  been  wrung, 
'Til  the  whole  land  was  desolate. 

Our  bright  and  starry  banner  flung 

Full  to  the  breeze,  floats  broad  and  free ; 

And  cannon's  roar,  and  joy-bells  rung, 
Proclaim  a  general  jubilee. 

*  *  * 

But  hark !  there  falls  upon  the  listening  ear, 

A  note  of  woe,  a  loud  funereal  wail ! 
Hushed  are  the  sounds  of  mirth,  the  words  of  cheer, 

Brave  hearts  are  bowed,  and  manly  cheeks  turn  pale; 
The  very  air  seems  heavy,  and  the  gale 

Is  burdened,  with  a  rumor  of  such  crime, 
As  well  might  seem  incredible,  in  tale 

Of  direst  horror !   all  aghast  we  stand, 

And  feel  that  deeds  most  foul  have  stained  our  boasted 
land. 

The  nation's  heart  stands  still !  for  he  who  stood, 
With  strong  right  hand  grasping  the  helm,  but  now 
11  * 


126  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Guiding  the  Ship  of  State,  amid  the  flood 
Of  angry  waters,  falls  beneath  the  hlow 

Of  dark  assassin;  and  our  blessed  bow 
Of  promise  fades, — a  sombre  dismal  pall 

Envelopes  all  the  land;  and  notes  of  woe, 
Bising  and  swelling  where  th'  Atlantic  roars, 
Blend  sadly  with  the  roar  from  broad  Pacific's  shores. 

We  mourn  as  for  a  father  dead;  nor  we 

Alone ;  the  wide,  wide  earth  will  feel  the  shock ! 

In  his  own  hand  he  held  the  destiny 
Of  millions;  standing  like  a  giant  rock 

Amid  the  breakers ;  though  the  foe  might  mock, 
False  friends  forsake,  and  many  a  hope  deceive, 

His  heart  was  steadfast ;  nought  his  purpose  shook ; 
A  fierce  rebellion's  mischief  to  retrieve, 
A  country  disenthralled  and  prosperous  to  leave. 

Weep !  ye  oppressed  of  other  lands,  whose  eyes 
Turn  hopefully  to  this  fair  home  of  ours ! 

Seeming  to  your  crushed  hearts,  a  paradise, 

Where  heaven  its  richest,  choicest  blessings  showers; 

Weep!  as  you  see  the  cloud  that  darkly  lowers 
On  our  horizon,  late  so  heavenly  bright ! 

He,  who  to  freedom's  cause,  his  noblest  powers 
Untiring  gave,  hath  fallen !  in  all  time, 
There  is  no  record  of  so  damnable  a  crime. 

In  vain  for  us  all  nature  smiles  again, 

In  vain  the  spring  put  on  her  brightest  bloom  ; 

A  nation's  tears  are  falling  like  the  rain 

From  summer  clouds;  we  think  but  of  the  tomb 


MEMORY   OF  AVltAHAM  LINCOLN.  127 

That  soon  will  hold  our  mightiest.     Is  there  room 
For  aught  but  sorrow  in  our  breaking  hearts? 

'Twere  fit  the  landscape  should  be  draped  in  gloom, 
When  he,  the  loved  and  trusted  one  departs ! 
So  suddenly  struck  down,  by  death's  unerring  dart. 

Now  bear  him  to  his  rest,  amid  the  tears 

And  gratitude  of  millions;  he  hath  gone, 
While  shouts  of  victory  were  in  his  ears; 

But  green  shall  be  his  fame  as  years  roll  on; 
Bright  as  the  western  sky  at  set  of  sun ! 

His  grave  shall  be  an  holy  shrine,  where  we 
May  blend  our  sorrow-stricken  hearts  in  one. 

0  God  of  nations !  in  our  agony, 

Help  us  to  lift  our  smitten,  fainting  hearts  to  Thee. 


By   "MAY"  OF    SPARROWBUSH.— Thirteen  Years  of  Age. 

rFHERE  are   tears   on   all   faces,    in   hearts   there   is 

mourning, 

And  crape  hangs  in  great  sable  folds  at  each  door. 
Weep,  weep  bereaved  country !  but  though  he  has  left 

us, 
We'll  honor  and  reverence  him  evermore. 

For  coupled  with  God's  it  was  his  hand  that  led  us, 
Safely  and  surely  through  war's  troubled  sea; 

Seeing  his  way  clear,  while  we  were  nigh  fainting, 
He  struck   down   the  chains  and  the  bondmen  were 
free. 


128  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  now,  when  the  war-clouds  are  constantly  breaking, 
And  the  first  joyous  peace-beams  are  shedding  their 

ray> 

The  assassin  must  come  with  the  fetal-aimed  bullet, 
And  death,  on  his  dark  wings,  bear  Lincoln  away. 

If  'twere  only  our  loss,  then  we  might  forgive  him, 
But  for  every  drop  of  the  blood  that  he  shed, 

Our  country's  voice  cries  for  ten  times  a  full  ransom, 
God's  curse  and  a  nation's  rest  on  his  base  head. 

Four  long  weary  years  did  the  trusted  one  labor, 
And  never  once  during  that  time  did  he  stray, 

Unless  it  was  when  he  would  shield  the  wild  traitor, 
From   the    vengeance    of  those,    who    their    wrongs 
would  repay. 

Four  years,  and  again  he,  the  choice  of  the  people, 
Was  treading  the  path  of  his  duty  and  care, 

When  suddenly  torn  from  the  head  of  the  nation, 
But  not  from  its  heart,  for  he'll  always  live  there. 

Weep,  Illinois,  weep !  for  thy  brave  son  has  fallen, 
Bow  thy  sad  head  to  the  blow  that  has  come; 

But  cherish  the  memory  of  thy  departed, 

And  joy,  that  thou  ever  couldst  boast  such  a  son. 

And  raising  one  hand  to  the  heavens  above  thee, 
Vow  that  the  death  of  the  lost  you'll  avenge; 

While  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other, 
Rises  the  wild  shout,  "  Revenge  !  Revenge !" 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  129 

COLUMBIA'S    LAMENT. 

By   Miss    EMMA    H.   BICKERSTAFF. 

T1  AREWELL  thou  fond  and  true  defender, 

Death  has  claimed  thy  precious  form, 
And  this  bleeding  heart  is  riven, 

Bowed  in  grief  before  the  storm; 
Vain  the  cry  that  calls  thee  to  me — 

Vain  the  pleading,  yearning  moan, 
0,  my  Father!  hast  thou  left  me, 

Left  thy  child  alone,  alone  ? 

When  the  fiends  of  dire  rebellion 

Chained  and  bound  me  as  their  slave, 
Crushed  the  Stars  and  Stripes  of  glory, 

Trailed  in  dust  each  silken  wave — 
When  from  lips  of  deadly  hatred, 

Curses  fell  upon  my  brow, 
Then  you  came  to  shield  and  guide  me, 

Lead  me  safe — none  knew  nor  how. 

In  my  crown  the  stars  are  trembling, 

Somber  light  they  shed  for  thee, 
While  the  flag  is  mournfully  floating 

Round  my  shoulders,  sad  and  free. 
Heavy  is  the  pall  that  drapes  it, 

Bringing  anguish  to  the  soul, 
Blasting  hope,  and  crushing  gladness, 

Givin     bells  their  solemn  toll. 


130  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

None  will  bless  as  thou  hast  blessed  me, 

None  so  gently  calm  each  fear, 
None  to  lift  the  load,  the  burden, 

None  to  wipe  the  rising  tear; 
But  upon  thy  grave  I'll  shed  them, 

And  bedew  thy  resting-place, 
Bid  farewell  to  love  departed, 

Turn,  and  greet  a  stranger  face. 

In  deep  despair  I  linger  near  thee, 

Alas!  those  cruel  words — good-bye — 
'Tis  Heaven's  will — the  cup  so  bitter, 

And  thou  didst  for  Columbia  die. 
Yes  'twas  meet,  our  highest  offering 

Was  thy  body,  and  it  fell; 
Sweet  and  peaceful  be  thy  slumbers, 

Great  and  good,  farewell,  farewell. 


ANONYMOUS.— English   Paper. 

GIG  SEMPER  TYRANNIS  !"   the  assassin  cried, 
As  Lincoln  fell.     0  villain  !  who  than  he 

More  lived  to  set  both  slave  and  tyrant  free? 
Or,  so  enrapt  with  plans  of  freedom  died 
That  even  thy  treacherous  deed  shall  glance  aside 

And  do  the  dead  man's  will  by  land  and  sea; 

Win  bloodless  battles,  and  make  that  to  be 
Which  to  his  living  mandate  was  denied. 
Peace  to  that  gentle  heart!  the  peace  he  sought 

For  all  mankind,  nor  for  it  dies  in  vain. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  131 

Rest  to  the  uncrowned  king,  who,  toiling,  brought 
His  bleeding  country  through  that  dreadful  reign ; 

Who,  living,  earned  a  world's  revering  thought, 
And  dying,  leaves  his  name  without  a  stain. 


By  P ,   New  Orleans. 

bells!     Your  solemn  funeral  notes 
Keep  proper  music  to  our  poor  sad  hearts. 

Weep  city!  for  the  mighty  hand  that 

Threw  a  shield  around  you, 

Now  lies  stiffened;   cold  in  death! 

Hang  out  the  sable  drapery  of  woe, 

And  let  the  nation  as  a  nation,  weep 

For  one  so  mighty  fallen. 

0 !  choke  not  back  the  rising  sob, 

For  none  need  be  ashamed  to-day 

To  let  the  waters  of  affection  fall 

Upon  the  new  made  grave 

That  covers  all  their  hopes. 

It  is  an  honest  grave — 

An  honest  man  who  fills  it. 

0 !  bloody,  bloody  spectacle  ! 

0  !  thrice  accursed  villain ; 

Our  heads  bow  down  in  shame, 

That  one  who  claims  a  birth-right 

With  us  all,  could  thus  strike  down 

The  nation's  hope  and  trust. 
*          ;          *         *         *         * 


132  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

And  this  occurs,  0,  shame  !  beneath  the  arch 

Of  that  proud  Capitol  they  helped  to  rear, 

And  on  whose  dome  the  goddess  of  our  nation 

Stands  to-day,  pointing  with  her  solemn  finger 

Upward  to  the  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Lost  to  us  forever. 

Men,  patriots,  brothers,  rise ! 

Let  not  this  damning  deed  go  unavenged ; 

Let  justice,  hastened  by  the  quickened  pulses 

Of  our  outraged  hearts,  seek  out  the  guilty  wretch, 

And  with  a  nation's  awful  rage, 

Wreak  vengeance  on  the  parricide. 

There's  twenty  million  loyal  hearts 

Bound  closely  round  with  crape  to-day. 

They  wait  and  watch,  but  mutter 

Low  and  terribly,  the  word — Revenge. 


ANONYMOUS. 

patriot  in  the  trial's  heat, 
Where  freedom's  martyrs  stood  at  bay; 
Now  proved  commander  gone  to  meet 
His  "noble  army"  passed  away. 

But  who  shall  bind  the  nation's  wound  ? 

To  whom  again  such  love  be  given  ? 
The  voice  that  can  with  comfort  sound 

Is  only  that  of  God  in  heaven. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  133 


By    HARRY    HAREWOOD    LEECH. 

AH  bravest  soul !  oh  wisest  head ! 
^     With  gentle  heart,  and  mercy's  hand; 
Why  could  ye  not  be  spared  to  lead 
Thy  people  to  "the  promised  land?" 

We  heard  the  music  far  away; 

We  saw  the  flowers  in  their  bloom; 
The  golden  dawn  of  coming  day 

Seemed  not  the  night  of  coming  doom. 

But  yesterday  the  bugles'  blast 

Scarce  drown'd  the  nation's  joyous  hum; 
We  knew  the  pangs,  and  deemed  them  past- 

We  never  heard  the  muffled  drum. 

We  never  saw  the  hidden  hand, 

Nor  heard  the  whispers  in  the  wind; 

"/»   Triomphe!"  through  all  the  land, 
The  laurel,  olive,  intertwined. 

Our  silken  banners,  wave  on  wave. 
Were  floating  in  their  native  sky; 

We  did  not  heed  the  open  grave, 
But  pass'd  the  "dust  and  ashes"  by. 

We  did  not  see  the  martyr-crown, 

The  thorns  were  hidden  near  the  rose ; 

And  heads  now  bow  most  lowly  down — 

Before  the  warning  came  the  blows. 
12 


134  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

So  near  the  people's  heart,  beloved ! 

So  simply  grand,  so  nobly  good ; 
To  peaceful  arts  forever  moved, 

Although  the  age  was  red  with  blood. 

Thy  memory  will  be  the  good 
That  ever  to  a  nation  brings 

God's  purposes,  so  understood 

That  men  reach  up  to  higher  things. 

And  bondmen  bless  thee  as  they  burn 
Kude  altar  fires  by  the  way, 

Embalming  in  a  sacred  urn 
The  benediction  of  thy  day. 


By    HENRY    PYMN. 

C\  OD  bless  Abraham  Lincoln ! 

A  mourning  people  cry, 
God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln ! 

The  sighing  winds  reply. 
God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln! 

Is  tolled  from  every  spire. 
God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln  ! 

Trembles  a  nation's  lyre. 

At  every  fireside  altar 

Is  felt  the  stroke  of  death ! 

And  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln 
Goes  upon  baby's  breath ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  135 

For  well  lie  loved  the  people, 
And  the  people  loved  him  well; 

And  every  heart  grows  sick  and  faint 
As  at  a  brother's  knell ! 

A  million  knees  are  hended 

On  southern  plains  to-day, 
A  million  lips  are  quivering 

With  words  they  cannot  say : 
A  million  broken  voices 

Fill  all  the  troubled  air, 
And  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln ! 

Is  all  their  simple  prayer. 

My  God,  I  humbly  thank  Thee 

Thou  hast  made  this  people  one ! 
Henceforth  we  may  not  falter 

Till  all  Thy  work  be  done ! 
For  the  haughty  rebel  spirit 

With  lip  that  scorns  and  braves, 
Still  walks  with  proud  defiance 

Above  our  soldier  graves! 

No  more  bludgeons  in  the  senate, 

Nor  whips  for  women's  backs, 
Nor  daggers  for  the  sick  room, 

Nor  hounds  for  human  tracks. 
No  auction  blocks  for  children, 

Of  harem,  or  of  home; 
No  murderers  of  Presidents 

In  all  the  time  to  come ! 


136  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

No  more  of  starving  prisoners, 

Nor  maiming  of  the  dead, 
But  down,  oh   down  forever, 

With  slavery's  hydra  head; 
For  the  people's  voice  is  God's  voice, 

And  it  thunders  through  the  land : 
"  My  mercy  is  my  justice, 

And  that  alone  shall  stand !" 

Oh  pity  for  the  wretched  hand 
That  laid  the  good  man  low, 

But  God  forgive  the  guilty  band 
That  gave  the  work  to  do! 

Perish !  forever  perish, 

The  hand  that  stabs  the  state! 

Nor  think  to  turn  God's  lightnings 

O  O 

By  calling  them  man's  hate! 

Oh  mourn  him  not,  ye  bondmen, 
Who  died  for  you  and  me, 

For  our  great  liberator 

Is  gone  where  all  are  free! 

But  bless  the  kind  death-ano-el 

O 

That  gave  his  soul  release, 
And  called  the  great  peacemaker 
To  go  where  all  is  peace! 

Yes,  bless  the  kind  evangel 

That  still  would  stay  his  wing, 

Nor  till  the  stars  on  Sumter  rose, 
Would  his  great  summons  bring! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  137 

But  when  that  rose-wreathed  banner 

Proclaimed  that  all  was  won, 
He  called  him  quickly  home  to  hear 

Servant  of  God,  well  done ! 

And  now  the  hillsides  burst  with  flowers, 

And  birds  in  groves  rejoice, 
And  God  bless  Abru'uim  Lincoln! 

Ascends  their  mingled  voice. 
The  rivers  bear  it  to  the  sea, 

The  sea  to  every  cliine, 
Till  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln, 

Is  the  universal  chime !       • 

A  voice  goes  up  to  bless  him 

From  every  soldier's  grave, 
While  God  bless  Abraham  Lincoln 

Cries  the  land  he  died  to  save ! 
And  earth  unites  to  bless  him 

Through  all  her  wide  domains, 
As  up  to  God  he  humbly  bears 

A  million  broken  chains ! 

By  Mrs.  M.  T.  G.   RICHARDSON. 

TT  ARK !  a  wail  of  lamentation 

O'er  Columbia's  land  is  borne, 
Where  the  shout  of  exultation 
Ran  just  now  o'er  victories  won. 

All  is  sadness, 

For  the  nation's  friend  is  gone. 
12  * 


138  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Wheii  disunion  and  secession 
Glad  would  sever  us  in  twain; 
When  the  war-cloud  brooded  o'er  us,- 
Red  and  bleeding  with  the  slain, 

All  was  darkness, 
And  a  night  of  terror  reigned. 

Then  a  leader,  kind  and  fearless, 
Patriot,  wise  and  true,  God  gave, — 
Whose  unfaltering,  holy  purpose, 
Yet  the  nation's  life  may  save. 

Freedom's  champion, 
Foremost  'mong  the  honored  brave. 

When  our  army  all  triumphant, 
At  the  laurels  victory  won; 
And  thanksgiving,  glad,  exultant 
Through  each  loyal  heart  had  run, 

Traitors  trembled, — 
Then  the  assassin's  work  was  done. 

In  the  heart  of  this  great  people 
Evermore  shall  be  entwined 
Memory  of  the  martyred  Lincoln, 
Sacrificed  at  Freedom's  shrine. 

Worthy  offering, 
Beacon  light  to  all  mankind. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  139 


By  M.  V.  V- 


,  citizens,  around  his  bier, 
And  look  upon  him  where  he  lies ! 
Weep,  freely,  without  shame  or  fear, 

These  scalding  tears  which  burn  your  eyes.  * 
Weep,  lest  your  hearts  should  rend  asunder ! 

Never,  since  the  world  began, 

Were  such  tears  shed  for  any  man 
As  these,  which  force  themselves  through  rage  and  pain, 
Like  streams  by  earthquakes  opened,  or  the  rain 

That  comes  with  peals  of  thunder. 
Behold  our  murdered  father,  sent  to  sleep 

Before  his  night  had  come — behold,  and  weep ! 

Then,  let  your  tears  in  wrath  be  dried; 

And  here,  beside  his  coffin  swear 
Fealty  to  that  for  which  he  died, 

And  death  to  treason !     Mutely  swear 

An  oath  which  naught  can  overbear: 
By  all  the  urgent  past  ;•  by  all 

The  hurrying  future,  dare 
To  fix  your  will.     Gaze  on  the  pall 

Which  covers  him  we  love ;  behold,  and  swear ! 

By  your  deep  pity  for  the  woman, 

His  widow,  bringing  home  her  dead ; 
And  for  his  sons,  too  young  for  his  inhuman 

Blow  on  their  tender  hearts;  swear,  by  the  red, 


140  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Deep  stain  of  murder;  more, 

By  all  our  martyred  dead! 
Oh,  swear  by  those  whose  nameless  graves 

Cover  our  country  o'er 
With  silent  speech;  and  by  the  slaves, 

Whose  eyes  are  turned  on  you  in  dread 
Of  hope  too  great  for  gladness; 
By  a  world's  sadness, 
By  the  black  folds  through  which  our  banner  waves, 

By  our  past  agonies  of  doubt  and  prayer, 
By  all  our  battle-fields,  behold,  and  swear ! 

Oh,  by  those  tortured  heroes,  changed, 

Through  slow  degrees  to  gibbering  skeletons, 
By  hunger,  frost,  and  mildew,  unavenged 

Of  us  who  heard,  but  heeded  not,  their  groans ; 
By  earth's  long  dream  of  liberty, 
Which  he  was  sounding  to  reality, 
Who  lies,  the  death-wound  darkening  there, 
Murdered — behold,  and  swear  ! 

Swear  by  your  own  deep  grief, 

Swear  by  your  Christian's  stern  belief, 
That  he  has  perished,  not  in  vain — 
That  from  his  loss  shall  grow 
A  great,  immortal  gain — 

That  the  base  blow 

Which  leveled  him  shall  set  a  people  free — 
Shall  loose  the  shackles  on  humanity — 
Shall  open  the  blind  eyes, 
And  break  the  stubborn  will 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  141 

Of  those  who  hinder,  till  the  race  shall  rise 

Redeemed,  and  worthy  of  the  sacrifice 
Of  him  who  lieth  here,  serene  and  still. 

His  work  is  ended.     Ours  is  not  yet  done. 
'Tis  we  must  finish  that  so  well  begun. 
He  perished  for  the  right:  we  dare 
To  live  for  it!  behold,  and  swear! 


By  GEO.  ALFRED    TOWNSEND. 

rPHE  peaceful  valleys  reaching  wide, 

The  wild  war  stilled  on  every  hand, 
On  Pisgah's  top  our  prophet  died, 
In  sight  of  promised  land. 

Low  knelt  the  foeman's  serried  fronts, 
His  cannon  closed  their  lips  of  brass, — 

The  din  of  arms  hushed  all  at  once 
To  let  this  good  man  pass. 

A  cheerful  heart  he  wore  alway, 

Though  tragic  years  clashed  on  the  while — 
Death  set  behind  him  at  the  play; 

His  last  look  was  a  smile. 

No  battle-pike  his  march  imbrued, 

Unarmed  he  went  midst  martial  mails, 

The  footsore  felt  their  hopes  renewed 
To  hear  his  homely  tales. 


142  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

His  single  arm  crushed  wrong  and  thrall, 
That  grand  good-will  we  only  dreamed; 

Two  races  weep  around  his  pall, 
One  saved,  and  one  redeemed. 

The  trampled  flag  he  raised  again, 
And  healed  our  eagle's  broken  wing; 

The  night  that  scattered  armed  men 
Saw  scorpions  rise  to  sting. 

Down  fell  the  brand  in  treason's  hand, 
Its  gashes  as  he  strove  to  staunch, 

And  o'er  the  waste  of  ruined  land 
To  take  the  olive  branch. 

The  holy  crest  by  murder  stained; 

Upon  its  shattered  portal  lie ! 
The  test  this  bravo's  lips  profaned 

Be  sanctified  for  aye ! 

la  still  green  field  or  belfried  kirk, 

Where'er  high  boughs  his  sleep  may  lull, 

Here  closed  his  life  where  closed  his  work — 
Beside  the  Capitol. 

Be  his  tomb  perturbed  and  pent, 

With  no  words,  too  weak  for  grief  begilt; 

Heap  up  his  grander  monument — 
The  Union  he  rebuilt. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  143 


By  H.  WOODWORTH. 

T  INCOLN  is  dead !  Oh,  how  those  words  of  grief 
•"^     Proclaim  a  nation's  loss,  a  nation's  woe ! 
So  deep  an  anguish  as  defies  relief; — - 

Lincoln  is  dead ;  and  by  the  assassin's  blow ! 

Weep,  0,  my  country !  it  becomes  thee  now ! 

Spare  not  thy  tears, — in  torrents  let  them  flow; 
Gird  sack-cloth  on,  in  dust  and  ashes  bow ! 

Lincoln  is  dead !  and  by  the  assassin's  blow ! 

Thy  noblest  son  is  fallen; — thou  should' st  mourn 
As  thou  hast  never  mourned  but  once  beside, 

When  he  by  whom  thy  infant  flag  was  borne, 

Heard  the  dread  summons,  bowed  his  head  and  died. 

Accursed  treason !  traitors  most  accursed ! 

Ye  have  his  death   encompassed; — now  prepare 
To  meet  the  storm  that  o'er  your  heads  will  burst; 

A  storm  of  vengeful  wrath,  that  will  not  spare ! 

;Twas  reached,  the  limit  of  forbearance,  when 
By  the  assassin's  blow  our  Lincoln  bled; — 

Even  the  best,  the  most  humane  of  men, 

By  desperate  wrongs  to  desperate  deeds  are  led. 

Henceforth  no  mercy  for  the  traitors ! — none  ! 

Deal  them  the  death  that  they  so  madly  deal ! — - 
Sweep  them  from  earth,  till  there  remain,  not  one ! 

Grive  them  the  halter,  bullet,  bombshell,  steel ! 


144  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

There  are  some  crimes  that  may  not  be  forgiven, 
So  damning  in  their  guilt,  so  deep  their  stain! 

They  call  for  vengeance  both  from  earth  and  heaven ! 
Such  is  the  deed  by  which  was  Lincoln  slain ! 

Is  there  a  man  that  breathes  the  Northern  air, 
So  vile,  so  fallen,  lost  to  aught  that's  good, 

As  will  with  foul  and  traitorous  lips  declare, 
That  he  rejoices  at  that  deed  of  blood  ? 

Let  him,  too,  suffer,  for  the  day  is  past 

When  northern  treason  can  protection  claim; 

An  outraged  people  will  arise  at  last, 

And  from  our  country  wipe  that  brand  of  shame. 

It  was  in  Freedom's  sacred  cause  he  bled, — 
The  noblest  man  of  this,  or  any  age, — 

It  will,  the  story  of  his  death,  be  read 

In  future  days,  on  history's  bloodiest  page! 


By  Rev.  THOMAS  H.  STOCKTON,   D.D. 

TT7ITH  humble  heart  and  drooping  brow, 

Before  Thy  throne,  great  God !  we  bow ; 
Earth's  noblest  state  is  naught  but  dust, 
And  Thou  art  all  our  souls  can  trust. 

Not  only  fall  the  vile  and  vain, 
Who  seek  no  good,  who  soothe  no  pain; 
But  men  whom  angels  must  approve, 
Whom  nations  bless,  and  Thou  dost  love. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  145 

For  all  he  was  of  great  and  good, 

We  thank  Thee  in  whose  strength  he  stood; 

For  all  he  is  we  praise  Thy  name; 

His  rest  is  heaven,  on  earth  his  fame. 

• 

With  him  relieved,  Thy  work  proceeds; 
New  hands  shall  emulate  his  deeds; 
While  still  from  heaven  we  hear  his  voice, 
God  reigns — let  all  the  earth  rejoice. 


By  C.  C- 


,  solemn  march !  on  whose  funereal  state 
With  mourning  pageant,  crowded  cities  wait; 
Bear  thou  the  mighty  dead  to  honored  rest 
Midst  the  fair  meadows  of  those  sunny  plains, 

Where  golden  harvests  shall  around  him  wave; 
And  glittering  spires  of  peopled  cities  rise; 
Whose  feet  the  many  silvery  rivers  lave; 
In  that  young  empire  of  the  fertile  West 
That  feels  the  pulses  of  her  glad  life  chill 

With  sudden  grief,  for  him,  her  proudest  son 
Now  to  her  arms  returning,  cold  and  still, 

From  his  high  place  of  honor  stricken  down ; 
And  hope  and  purpose,  and  life's  generous  glow 
Quenched  in  an  evil  hour  by  one  fell  blow. 

As  falls  the  mountain  pine,  by  lightning  riven, 

As  cleaves,  from  Alpine  heights  the  ice-bound  rocks; 
13  G 


146  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

As  sinks  the  gallant  sliip,  by  tempests  driven ; 
Swift,  as  the  ruin  of  the  earthquake's  shock, 

Have,  oft,  the  mighty  fallen  from  height  of  power. 
Leveled  to  mortal  dust  by  destiny, 
And  earth  beholds  the  pageant  passing  by, 

The  grief,  the  wonder  of  the  fleeting  hour. 

Thus  passed  the  pomp  of  Egypt's  chivalry. 
Up  from  the  red  cliffs  of  the  coral  sea, 
To  Jacob's  burial,  midst  those  hills  of  bloom, 
That  shed  their  crimson  blossoms  on  the  tomb 

Where,  laid  in  faith  and  hope,  the  patriarchs  rest, 
While  centuries  their  cycles  long  fulfill 

In  toil  and  bondage  to  their  race  oppressed; 
Till,  led  by  Him  who  keepeth  covenant  still, 
Israel  redeemed,  his  fatherland  possessed. 

So  gazed  the  world  when  Asia's  conqueror 
In  triumph's  joyous  hour,  by  death  o'ercome, 

Passed  from  the  splendor  of  the  subject  East 
To  hold  his  little  kingdom  of  a  tomb, 

In  that  memorial  city  by  the  Nile, 

A  gold  and  purple  show  of  royal  state, 
Where  Egypt's  jealous  care  and  worship  wait, 

And  throngs  the  homage  of  each  Grecian  isle. 

Heard  ye  the  echo,  borne  across  the  wave, 

When  France  conveyed  her  cherished  hero  home ! 

From  the  lone  exile  of  his  island  grave 

To  rest  in  glory  'neath  her  proudest  dome? 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  147 

Along  her  vine-clad  hills  bright  banners  dance, 
And  rings  the  cry — Napoleon  !    Vive  la  Franca  ! 
'Tis  o'er,  and  Europe's  conqueror,  too,  has  won 
His  hour  of  triumph,  and — an  empty  crown. 

Build  we  memorial  to  our  nobler  dead? 

And  shall  th'  eternal  marble  speak  his  fame  ? 
Who  lies  entombed  within  the  pyramid  ? 

Of  all  her  ancient  glory  but  the  name 
To  Alexandria  remaineth  now; 

The  rock  wherein  the  patriarchs  were  laid, 
Hath  lost  its  sacred  treasure  long  ago : 

We  doubt  the  dim  traditions  of  the  place 
So  long  by  feet  of  desert  wanderers  trod. 

So  perish  monuments  that  man  hath  made, 
But  theirs  is  record,  time  cannot  efface, 

Sealed  with  Jehovah's  name,  the  friend  of  God. 

Such  record  too  is  thine,  oh  noble  life ! 

On  whose  meridian  darkens  such  eclipse 
As  shrouds  a  nation  in  its  sable  pall ! 

Thou,  midst  the  discord,  and  the  bitter  strife, 

Hast  looked  in  faith  to  Him  who  ruleth  all. 
Oh  ruler,  wise,  magnanimous  and  good ! 

We  speak  thy  virtues  now  with  quivering  lips, 
And  learn  the  wisdom,  then  half  understood, 

That,  with  unwavering  purpose  and  strong  hand, 

Has  wiped  the  blot  of  slavery  from  the  land ; 

And  built,  in  justice  and  in  liberty, 

Enduring  peace,  and  safe  prosperity. 


148  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Soon  fade  the  laurels  conquerors  have  won, 
But  thou,  the'  immortal  amaranth  shalt  wear 
In  courts  of  light,  with  nobler  victors  there, 

Who  cast  their  crowns  hefore  th'  eternal  throne. 

Like  him,  who,  from  the  height  of  Pisgah,  saw 
The  land  where  Israel's  wandering  feet  should  rest; 
And  closed  his  eyes  upon  that  vision  blest: — 
Buried  by  God  upon  that  mountain  lone, 
A  sepulchre  no  eye  hath  looked  upon, 
Unvisited  save  by  the  winds  of  heaven; — 
His  time-enduring  monument — the  law, 
To  him,  amidst  the  clouds  of  Sinai  given ; — 
His  living  record,  through  millenial  years, 
A  people  in  its  living  memory  bears. 


By    E.  SHERMAN    SMITH. 

OLEEP  !  martyred  patriot,  sleep ! 

^  While  mourning  millions  keep 
Watch  at  the  sacred  portals  of  thy  tomb ; 

Sleep  on  in  peace  profound, 

While,  far  and  wide,  resound 
A  nation's  wild  lamentings  o'er  thy  doom. 

Sleep  on !  and  dream  no  more 

Of  this  most  troublous  shore; 
Let  heaven's  sweet  rest  for  earth's  sad  wrongs  atone : 

No  foul  assassin's  hand, 

No  traitor's  murderous  brand 
Can  reach  thee  in  that  realm  to  which  thou'rt  gone. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  149 

Ilest !  noble  ruler,  rest ! 

No  care  need  vex  thy  breast 
For  the  dear  land  which  owned  thy  gentle  sway; 

Its  night  of  woe  is  past, 

Through  clouds  and  tears,  at  last, 
Dawns  the  soft  promise  of  a  happier  day. 

Sleep!  for  thy  work  is  done, 

And  rest  is  fairly  won — 
Though  all  too  soon  thy  noble  heart  was  stilled; 

Yet,  may  we  joy  to  know, 

Thou  wert  not  stricken  low 
Till  thy  great  mission  here  was  well  fulfilled. 

Sleep  !  martyred  patriot  sleep ! 

The  nation  long  shall  keep 
Most  sweet  remembrance  of  thy  gentle  worth. 

Thy  deeds,  so  wise  and  just, 

Shall  "bloom  in  the  dust," 
And  shed  a  living  fragrance  o'er  the  earth. 


By  CHRISTOPHER    C.  COX. 

TYEAD  !     Is  he  dead  ? 

•^  The  nation's  own  President — he  who  to-day 
Lived,  breathed  and  acted — whose  gracious  sway 
Won  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  loyal  and  true, 
As  he  fought  the  great  fight  of  his  country  all  through, 
Dead?     Is  he  dead? 

13  * 


150  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Startling  the  tale! 

Not  on  his  couch  in  the  White  House  he  lies, 
Not  of  disease  the  great  patriot  dies, 
Not  by  strange  accident  stopping  his  breath; — 
Alas !  none  of  these  have  consigned  him  to  death. 

Startling  the  tale? 

Whence  fell  the  stroke  ? 
Stifling  a  life  in  its  power  and  its  pride — 
A  life  for  which  thousands  would  freely  have  died — 
A  life  the  great  nation  so  poorly  could  spare — 
A  life  in  whose  deeds  the  whole  world  had  a  share — 

Whence  fell  the  stroke  ? 

Tell  the  sad  tale- 
Waft  it,  ye  swift  winds,  from  city  to  plain, 
Speed  it,  ye  lightnings,  from  ocean  to  main. 
Tell  to  the  nation  that  he,  their  great  head, 
By  the  red  hand  of  murder  lies  bleeding  and  dead ! 

Tell  the  sad  tale. 

Palsied  the  hand 

That  pointed  the  weapon — accursed  be  the  heart 
That  prompted  a  crime  at  which  devils  may  start — 
And  twice  cursed  the  cause  from  which  sprung  the  dark 

deed, 
A  natural  shoot,  as  the  fruit  from  the  seed. 

Palsied  the  hand. 

Speak  to  all  hearts: 
Tell  it  in  cottage,  and  tell  it  in  hall. 
The  mighty  hath  fallen!     The  funeral  pall 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  151 

Lies  draped  o'er  the  form  of  the  noblest  and  best — 
A  statesman,  a  hero,  hath  gone  to  his  rest; 
Speak  to  all  hearts. 

Hear — brave  and  true — 

Curb  the  joy  on  your  lips  for  the  triumph  ye've  won, 
Exult  not  awhile  in  the  era  begun; 
Pause — weep  bitter  tears  for  the  patriot  gone, 
Who  led  you  through  trial  and  victory  on — 

Hear — brave  and  true. 

Listen,  ye  false; 

Mantle  your  cheeks  with  hot  blushes  of  shame, 
Low  bow  your  heads  at  the  sound  of  his  name; 
Recall  your  dark  treason  and  tremble  to  know 
You  nerved  the  foul  murderer's  arm  for  the  blow! 

Listen,  ye  false. 

Toll  the  deep  bell- 
In  symbols  of  grief  throw  the  flag  from  its  place, 
Festoon  cot  and  mansion  from  roof-top  to  base, 
While  thousands,  with  solemn,  funereal  tread, 
'Mid  silence  and  sorrow,  bear  slowly  the  dead — 

Toll  the  deep  bell. 

He  needs  no  tear. 

Our  banner  droops  low — our  sky  has  grown  dim — 
We  lament  for  ourselves,  but,  oh !  friends,  not  for  him. 
Ripe  with  honors,  his  name  by  a  million  hearts  blest, 
The  great  work  accomplished,  he  goes  to  his  rest. 

He  needs  no  tear. 


152  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

There — let  him  sleep ; 

In  his  far  distant  home  where  a  poor  boy  he  came, 
And  won  by  his  worth  the  proud  title  to  fame; 
Another  Mount  Vernon,  his  grave  in  all  time, 
The  Mecca  for  pilgrims  of  every  clime. 

There — let  him  sleep. 

The  seal  has  been  set — 

Go,  bend  o'er  the  turf  where  he  slumbers  alone. 
And  "Abraham  Lincoln"  carve  deep  in  the  stone, 
The  mortal  remains  turn  to  dust  where  they  lie, 
But  the  noble  old  President  never  can  die! 

The  seal  has  been  set. 


By  PEREGRINATOR. 

A  JAR  thy  gate,  celestial  dome ; 
•*•*-  Behold!  angels  and  archangels  guide 
Reviver  of  a  nation  home  ! 
Among  the  just,  on  time's  continual  change, 
His  name  shall  proudly  move, 
As  pole-star  of  Republic's  range, 
Mighty  champion,  freedom's  son. 

Longevity  denied  by  traitors'  wild,  malignant  rage. 

In  midst  of  high,  most  noble  deeds, 

None  have  surpassed  on  history's  page : 

Calm,  comprehensive  soul,  whose  kindness  swayed 

O'er  tribes,  e'en  nations  at  their  birth, 

Love,  charity  and  truth  its  fountain  made, 

Nations  shall  mourn  his  sad,  untimely  flight  from  earth. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  153 

-Although  now  dead — shot  down  at  night, 
He  left  behind  the  ruling  chart 
To  guide  the  world  to  right; 
And  from  his  dust  there  shall  arise 
Some  valiant  sons  to  grasp  his  creed  with  might, 
And  gain  triumphantly  the  prize. 

But  hark !  methink  the  nation's  voices  ring 

With  anger,  mingled  with  contempt — 

For  retributive  justice  bring, 

To  crush  the  dire  infatuated  fiends. 

Now  tremble,  leaders  of  rebellion's  host, 

And  view  the  yawning  woe  Pandora  planned, 

To  ingulf  you  and  your  vaunted  boast. 

And  now,  0,  ye  sons  of  darker  hue — most  loyal  hearts — 

Droop  ye,  alarmed,  for  fear 

His  loss  has  spent  your  legal  part? 

No,  no ;  look  up  to  Him  whose  spangled  lights  adorn 

Yon  vaulted  heavens  above : 

He  will  surely  break  a  brighter  morn, 

To  crown  the  triumph  of  His  love. 

California. 


By  G.   MARTIN. 

the  dumb  and  dismal  tomb 
Conceals  him  in  his  depth  of  gloom, 
And  while  its  shadows  round  him  close, 
His  myriad  friends,  and  sullen  foes, 
Stand  darkened  in  the  dread  eclipse; 
And  breaking  hearts,  through  ashen  lips, 


154  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 

Murmur  in  sobs — 'tis  all  they  can— 
The  world  has  lost  an  honest  man. 

Pure  patriot !  uncomputed,  rare, 
The  world  could  ill  afford  to  spare 
The  sum  of  goodness  lost  in  thee, 
And  hence  our  great  calamity. 

Throughout  all  nations — everywhere, 
But  most  where  freedom's  blessed  air 
Expands  the  honest  Briton's  soul, 
Swift  as  the  mournful  tidings  roll, 
At  sumptuous  board  and  humble  hearth 
Will  cease  the  wonted  sound  of  mirth, 
And  indignation,  grief,  and  tears 
Will  shake  the  fathers  white  with  years, 
And  wring  the  matrons'  hearts,  and  pain 
The  instincts  of  the  youthful  train; 
And  all  the  toiling,  trusting  host, 
Who  had  most  cause  to  love  him  most, 
Will  think,  as  from  a  blow  they  bend, 
We've  lost  a  father,  brother,  friend. 

This  scanty  verse  I  fain  would  lay 
Upon  thy  bier,  my  friend,  to-day ; — 
My  friend,  because  my  early  years, 
Through  poverty,  and  toil,  and  tears, 
Glimmered  upon  the  world,  and  wrought 
Within  my  boyish  brain  the  thought, 
That,  somehow,  there  was  something  wrong, 
The  people  weak,  and  yet  so  strong; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  155 

And,  groping  in  that  early  dream, 
I  saw  the  truth  at  distance  gleam. 
If  all  who  work  would  but  unite 
To  set  some  monstrous  ills  to  right, 
The  gifts  that  now  exalt  the  few 
Would  raise  the  squalid  millions  too. 
And  this  fresh  hope,  my  young  ideal, 
Is  in  our  western  world  made  real. 
Here  liberty  at  length  released 
From  persecuting  king  and  priest, 
From  slavery's  thrall,  and  treason's  power, 
Lifts,  in  this  sacrificial  honr, 
Her  snowy  hands  to  heaven,  and  cries, 
"  Rise  up,  my  mourning  children,  rise ! 
His  task  was  done,  his  battle  won, 
And  I  can  spare  my  youngest  son." 

Montreal. 


By  L.  J.  CIST. 

"  This  Duncan 

Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek — has  boon 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off." 

mournful  night !  of  all  beside, 
The  dismalest  and  saddest! 
Since  erst  to  Him,  the  crucified. 
A  dark  farewell  thou  badest ! 
Oh,  fitting  day  for  such  a  deed, 
The    Christian  world  appalling — 


156  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

The  martyr's  crown  upon  his  head 
So  unexpected,  falling ! 

The  kindest  heart  in  all  the  land! 

The  hravest  and  the  truest ! 
The  only  one.  perhaps,  to  stand 

Against  our  danger  newest — 
That  hatred  and  revenge  shall  be 

Henceforth,  our  rule  of  action ; 
Who  will  so  wisely  steer,  as  he, 

From  all  th'  extremes  of  faction? 

Oh,  woe  the  day  !  Oh,  woe  the  hour ! 

Accurst  the  bloody  traitor ! 
Whose  desperate  deed  of  deadly  power 

Has  op'd  the  burning  crater 
Of  passions  fierce — subdued  of  late — 

The  surface  underlying, 
To  spread — a  lava  flood  of  liatc 

And  bitterness  undying ! 

Was  there  not  one  in  all  the  land, 

(If  victim  we  must  offer,) 
Of  those  who  stand  a  patriot  band, 

Ready  their  lives  to  proffer — 
Would  no  one  else  suffice? — no  blood 

Save  his  appease  his  haters  ? — 
So  kindly  good,  that  still  he  stood 

Best  friend  to  foes  and  traitors  ? 

Honest  and  true! — His  self-distrust, 
His  kindness  and  meekness — 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  157 

His  very  virtues  verged  almost 

Upon  the  edge  of  weakness ! 
No  bitterness  upon  his  lip, 

And  in  his  heart  no  malice, 
For  that  hate's  draught  he  might  not  sip. 

He  thrust  aside  the  chalice! 

'Tis  hard  that  he,  who  four  long  years 

Had  borne  the  toil  and  burden, 
Should  die,  just  as  in  sight  appears 

The  end — his  sole-sought  guerdon ; 
Rebellion  crushed,  with  peace  sincere — 

Our  Union's  restoration, 
And,  entering  on  its  new  career, 

A  great,  united  Nation. 

But  ours  the  loss,  and  his  the  gain ! 

His  record's  now  immortal ! 
Nor  would  we  call  him  back  again 

On  this  side  death's  dark  portal. 
His  work  is  done !     His  fame  is  won ! — 

In  proud  Columbia's  story, 
Her  first  and  second  Washington 

Together  linked  in  glory  ! 

St.    Louis,   Mo. 
14 


158  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


TREASON'S    MASTERPIECE. 

By  GEO.  VANDENHOFF. 

^TREASON  has  done  his  worst ! 

•*-  A  hand  accurst 

Has  made  the  nation  orphan  by  a  blow ; 
Has  turned  its  hymns  of  joy  to  wail  and  woe 
As  for  a  father  lost,  a  saviour  slain, — 
And  blood,  and  toil  and  anguish  spent  in  vain  ! 

Half  his  great  work  was  done, 

By  victory  won 

O'er  recreant  chiefs,  and  rebels  in  the  field, 
Compelled  to  bow  the  knee  and  homage  yield ; 
And  his  calm  breast,  from  war  and  vengeance  turned, 
With  generous  pity  towards  the  vanquished  yearned. 

Deep  joy  was  in  his  soul 

As  o'er  it  roll 

Sweet  thoughts  of  peace  and  magnanimity, 
Wounds  healed,  wrath  quelled,  his  country  free, 
Foes  turned  to  friends,  the  bitter  past  forgiven  j — 
Such  thoughts  as  earthly  power  make  like  to  heaven. 

While  all  suspicion  slept, 

The  assassin  crept 

Into  the  circle  where,  in  guardless  state, 
The  simple  chief  in  friendly  converse  sate, 
And,  in  an  instant,  ere  a  hand  could  rise, 
The  nation's  hope  a  slaughtered  martyr  lies! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  159 

In  peace,  great  martyr,  sleep ! 

Thy  people  weep. 

But  stop  their  tears  to  swear  upon  thy  grave. 
The  cause  thou  died'st  for,  they  but  live  to  save ; 
And  the  great  bond,  cemented  by  thy  blood, 
Shall  stand  unbroken,  as  it  still  hath  stood. 

The  traitor's  fiendlike  act, 

By  stern  compact, 

Binds  us  still  closer  'gainst  the  murderous  band 
That  fain  with  blood  would  deluge  all  the  land ; 
But  vanquished  by  the  sword,  for  mercy  kneel, 
And  pay  it,  granted,  with  the  assassin's  steel. 

Oh,  for  this  hellish  deed 

Thousands  shall  bleed, 

That  else  had  lived  to  bless  thy  gentle  name 
By  mercy  wreathed  with  an  immortal  fame ; 
And  traitors,  from  a  nation's  wrath,  shall  learn 
That  outraged  pity's  tears  to  sternest  justice  turn ! 


By    JOHN    COLLINS. 

rPHE  nation  mourns — ay,  bleeds  with  sorest  grief, 
•*•      No  tongue  may  now  our  bitter  sorrow  tell ; 
The  breaking  heart  can  only  find  relief, 

In  those  few  words,  "  He  doeth  all  things  well." 

Weep  that  a  prince  in  Israel  is  gone; 

Faithful,  like  him,  the  Hebrew  sire  of  old, 


160  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Weep,  for  the  immortal  dead  who  stood  alone, 
Endowed  with  virtues  of  no  common  mould. 

As  some  tall  cliff  upon  the  sea-beat  shore, 
Unmoved,  resists  the  wave  and  howling  gale, 

Nor  strife  of  tongues  nor  din  of  murderous  war, 
To  foil  his  noble  mission,  could  avail. 

Weep  for  the  kindest  heart!  now  stilled  in  death; 

Lenient  to  crime — to  misery,  ever  dear; 
A  wail  of  anguish  comes  from  earth  beneath, 

And  heaven  drops  down  a  sympathetic  tear. 

Mourn  for  a  statesman,  lost  to  all  mankind — 
A  patriot  pure,  by  love  of  justice  led; 

Genius,  and  worth,  and  intellect  combined — 
W,eep  for  our  truly  loved  and  honored  dead. 

Let  every  bell  toll  mournfully  the  knell 

When  thousands  stand  around  his  open  tomb, 

Till  eyes  with  tears  and  hearts  with  sobbing  swell, 
And  heads  are  bowed  in  universal  gloom. 

Let  muffled  drums  the  solemn  tones  repeat, 
In  rolling  thunder,  heard  from  sea  to  sea, 

And  flags  be  draped  when  sorrowing  millions  meet, 
While  the  world  stands  in  silent  sympathy. 

Weep  for  the  good,  struck  down  in  manhood's  prime, 
Dying,  all  senseless,  by  the  murderer's  hand, 

A  glorious  martyr  for  his  faith  sublime, 
Time-worn  and  travelling  to  a  better  land. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  161 

That  noblest  blood  has  not  been  shed  in  vain  ! 

For  every  drop  a  million  tears  shall  flow; 
A  million  hearts  be  leagued  to  strike  again 

The  secret  traitor  or  the  open  foe. 

Who  shall  not  love  and  venerate  thy  name  ? 
Hope  of  the  nation  in  her  darkest  hour, 
Inscribed  forever  on  the  roll  of  fame, 
"  The  guardian  of  her  glory  and  her  power !" 

Praise  to  thy  memory  be  in  coming  years 

That  thou  hast  dared  the  bondmen  to  defend, 
When  every  dusky  brow  shall  bless  with  tears, 

And,    kneeling,   thank    God    for    the    "  Freedman's 
Friend." 

I 

Blest  shade  of  Lincoln !  thou  hast  fought  the  fight, 
Maintained  the  faith  and  now  the  crown  hast  won ; 

Rest  thee  in  heaven !  on  earth,  with  proud  delight, 
Men  shall  revere  our  "second  Washington." 

The  Father  of  his  Country,  lived  and  died, 
From  foreign  foes  the  commonwealth  to  save, 

Thine  was  the  glorious  task,  to  his  allied, 
By  freedom's  hands  to  dig  rebellion's  grave. 

While  history  smiling  bids  the  western  world 
With  glowing  pride  its  "  PATRICE  PATER  "  see, 

She  bends  to  meet  thee,  with  our  flag  half  furled, 
And  sighs,  thine,  PATRICE  SALVATOR,  be." 

14  * 


162  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Departed  spirits  of  our  fatherland, 

Ye   who   have   toiled,  and   watched,  and   wept,   and 

prayed, 
Firm  as  a  storm-defying  rock,  shall  stand 

The  blood-sealed  Union  that  your  hands  have  made. 

If  to  the  souls  in  bliss  'tis  ever  given 

The  dark  eventful  scenes  of  earth  to  know, 

Look  down,  immortal  patriots,  from  heaven, 
As  guardian  angels  of  your  land  below. 


By    FLORY    FAVORITE. 

TN  this  dark  hour,  0  God, 

We  need  such  help  as  Thine; 
Our  mourning  spirit  fain  would  ask 
Encouragement  Divine. 

A  nation  bathed  in  tears, 

A  people  sore  distressed, 
Look  through  the  grim  and  crowding  fears. 

To  Thee,  0  God,  for  trust. 

Around  the  tear-stained  bier 

Of  him,  our  nation's  pride, 
We  kneel  in  deep  humility, 

Nor  seek  our  grief  to  hide. 

No  more  a  million  tongues 

Give  praise  for  victories  won ; 
Trophies  of  war  unheeded  go, 

And  at  our  feet  are  strewn. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  163 

All,  all  is  dim  and  drear, 

And  o'er  our  nation's  path, 
We  nothing  see  but  threatening  clouds 

Of  war's  unchristian  wrath. 

We  need  Thy  heavenly  aid 

To  help  our  trust  secure — 
We  need  the  power  of  Thy  will 

That  we  may  yet  endure. 

Oh,  teach  our  hearts  to  wear 

The  shield  of  fortitude — 
Teach  us  to  feel  that  trouble  conies 

Laden  with  lessons  good. 

And,  leaning  on  Thy  arm, 

In  Thee  we  will  confide;  , 

For  even  midst  afflictions  dread, 

We  feel  Thou'rt  on  our  side. 


By    DENNIS    B.   DORSEY. 

OLOWLY  we  come  to  learn  thy  worth, 
^     Oh,  genial  man  !  oh,  modest  sage ! 
Slowly  we  come  to  see  we've  lost 
The  grandest  spirit  of  the  age. 

So  near  we  felt  the  loving  heart, 

Gentle  and  warm  tow'rd  all  mankind, 

We  ne'er  looked  up  to  see  ourselves 
O'ershadowed  by  the  mighty  mind. 


164  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Now  scarce  we  know  which  we  most  miss, 
The  leader's  mind  or  brother's  heart; 

And  scarce  we  know  which  most  we  prize, 
The  brother's  love  or  leader's  art. 

The  world  with  us  will  prize  them  both; 

To  us  alone  they  were  not  given; 
Like  light  and  air,  to  all  mankind, 

They  were  a  common  gift  of  Heaven. 

Not  we  alone  thy  death  deplored, 
Not  we  alone  thy  absence  weep; 

The  world  through  all  the  ages  hence 

Thy  name  shall  love,  thy  fame  shall  keep. 


ANONYMOUS. 

A  MEEICA,  mourn ! 

Thy  grief,  thy  tears,  are  well, 

So  toll  the  passing  bell : — 
Thy  beautiful  locks  are  shorn ; 
Locks  of  thy  strength  and  crown  of  thy  deep  night — 

Oh  beautiful  and  bright! 

Shorn  as  the  morn  was  breaking,  and  the  star 
Of  peace  was  rising  o'er  the  front  of  war; 
And  for  the  moment,  like  a  giant  slain, 
Thy  stout  young  limbs  lie  paralyzed  with  pain 
And  a  great  cloud  of  woe  on  all  things  falls, 
Clothing  a  continent  in  funeral  palls. 

Toll,  toll  the  passing  bell ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  165 

Man  of  the  people,  father  of  the  state ! 

Shall  we  not  weep  for  thee? 
Woe  is  me !  woe  is  me ! 
Our  hearts  are  burdened  with  a  very  great 

Sadness  we  cannot  cast  away; 

For,  in  the  very  zenith  of  our  day 
Of  joy  triumphant,  such  as  nation  never 

Had  cause  to  know  before, 
The  rage  of  hell  thy  royal  life  did  sever, 
And  stole  thee  from  us  to  another  shore. 

Would  God  had  passed  the  cup ! 

But  let  His  will  be  done, 
Still  must  our  tears  well  up, 

Great  heart,  for  like  the  sun, 
Thy  gentle  face  did  melt  us,  and  just  things, 
More  kindly  thoughts,  and  mercy  all  divine, 
Were  working  in  us  like  a  holy  wine, 

Soothing  the  many  stings — 
Withdrawing  one  by  one  the  cruel  darts 
War  had  left  quivering  in  our  bleeding  hearts. 

Wail,  children  of  the  dark  ! 
Your  more  than  father  has  forsaken  you. 
Wail,  rebel  men  and  states ! 
Your  shipwrecked  bark, 

Spotted  with  untold  murder,  he'd  have  saved. 
Him  ye  have  slain  who  would  have  changed  your  fates. 
Laws  and  evangels  new, 

Ye  have  called  down  and  braved; 


1G6  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Woe!   woe!   hath  God  but  mercy  for  his  shroud, 
Or  justice,  also,  hidden  in  the  cloud? 

Wail,  people  of  the  main — 
All  ye  oppressed,  for  him  your  captain  slain ! 

For  him  who,  with  strong  hands, 
Broke  from  four  million  slaves  their  cruel  bands; 

Who,  with  unselfish  aim, 
Simple  and  honest  as  a  little  child, 

But  with  a  godlike  trust  and  flame, 
Breasted  the  fury  of  rebellion  wild, 

Withstood  the  wiles  of  tyranny  and  wrong, 
Upheld  the  flag  of  liberty  and  right, 

Through  unexampled  night; 
And  died  so  sadly,  just  as  the  glad  song 

Of  triumph  in  our  wars, 
From  twice  ten  million  throats,  was  ringing  to  the  stars. 

Sire,  shall  we  call  thee  great  ? 
It  suits  thee  best  to  call  thee  wise  and  good, 
The  Moses  who  did  lead  us  through  the  flood, 

Redeemer  of  our  statesmanship  and  state. 
Thou  didst  make  oflice  honorable.     With  thee 

The  king  was  swallowed  in  the  man.     Thy  great 
Soft  eye  was  full  of  human  sympathy 

Thy  acts  made  good.     Thou  hadst  no  room  for  hate  ; 
And,  like  the  Christ,  thy  orb  in  ocean  dips, 
Forgiveness  dropping  from  thy  loving  lips. 

Still  we  must  needs 
Mourn,  for  the  heart  of  hearts  within  us  bleeds, 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLX.  167 

But  not  so  much  for  thee; 
Thy  martyrdom  for  liberty 
Has  sealed  thy  glory,  made  thy  name  and  fame 

A  beacon  light, 
An  ever  burning  flame, 
Nor  tyranny,  nor  time  can  pale. 
Thy  star  of  splendor  rises  o'er  the  night 
Of  centuries  past,  and  centuries  to  be, 
With  a  broad  blaze  which  all  the  world  shall  scu ; 
And  seeing,  worship  next  to  Deity, 
Lincoln,  the  just,  all  hail ! 


By   JAMES    M.  STEWART. 

F  ET  the  President  sleep ! — all  his  duty  is  done, 
He  has  lived  for  our  glory,  the  triumph  is  won ; 

At  the  close  of  the  fight,  like  a  warrior  brave, 

He  retires  from  the  field  to  the  rest  of  the  grave. 

Hush  the  roll  of  the  drum,  hush  the  cannon's  loud  roar, 

He  will  guide  us  to  peace  through  the  battle  no  more ; 

But  new  freedom  shall  dawn  from  the  place  of  his  rest. 

Where  the  star  has  gone  down  in  the  beautiful  West. 
Tread  lightly,  breathe  softly,  and  gratefully  bring 
To  the  sod  that  enfolds  him  the  first  flowers  of  spring ; 
They  will  tenderly  treasure  the  tears  that  we  weep 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  chief — let  the  President  sleep. 

Let  the  President  sleep — tears  will  hallow  the  ground, 
Where  we  raise  o'er  his  ashes  the  sheltering  mound, 
And  his  spirit  will  sometimes  return  from  above, 
There  to  mingle  with  ours  in  ineffable  love. 


168  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Peace  to  thee,  noble  dead,  thou  hast  battled  for  right, 
And  hast  won  high  reward  from  the  Father  of  Light; 
Peace  to  thee,  martyr-hero,  and  sweet  be  thy  rest, 
Where  the  sunlight  fades  out  in  the  beautiful  West. 
Tread  lightly,  breathe  softly,  and  gratefully  bring 
To  the  sod  that  enfolds  him  the  first  flowers  of  spring; 
They  will  tenderly  treasure  the  tears  that  we  weep 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  chief — let  the  President  sleep ! 


By   JAMES    RISTINE. 

slowly,  reverently,  ye 
Who  bear  the  great  man  to  his  grave. 
For  the  world  and  coming  centuries  see 
These  plumes  and  funeral  garlands  wave. 

In  veneration  bow  the  head, 

For  'twas  a  patriot  and  sage, 
And  the  lustre  of  his  life  will  shed 

Fresh  glory  on  his  land  and  age. 

Large  in  the  love  of  all  mankind, 

And  of  reform  intelligent, 
Through  storied  past  ye  may  not  find 

Such  virtue  on  high  purpose  bent. 

To  break  the  fetters  from  the  slave, 
And  brush  away  the  captive's  tear, 

A  broad  soul's  energy  he  gave, 

And  gave  the  corpse  on  yonder  bier. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  169 

'Twas  his  to  spurn  aspiring  guile, 

And  cherish  to  his  heart  alone, 
The  exalted  duty  that  may  smile 

Unmingled  with  a  patriot's  moan. 

'Twos  his  to  spurn  the  partisan  aims 
That  thirty  perilous  years  had  reared, 

And  turn  to  the  majestic  names 

The  world  has  honored  and  revered. 

lie,  threw  his  full  heart's  sympathies 
Around  a  nation  whelmed -in  grief, 

And  helmsman  on  the  tossing  seas, 

He  freed  the  ship  from  shoal  and  reef. 

And  when  uprisen  justice  sought 

To  tread  the  mutinous  hearts  to  earth, 

And  reassert  the  truth  it  taught, 

When  the  old  victorious  flag  came  forth, 

He  stood  before  the  eager  sword, 

And  checked  the  cannon's  mouthing  hate, 

That  harmony  might  be  restored 

With  blessings  to  each  bleeding  state. 

And  yet  the  traitor's  dripping  hand, 
Red  with  the  stain  of  brother's  blood, 

Brought  deeper  sorrow  to  the  land. 
The  kind,  the  gentle,  and  the  good, 

The  warm,  forgiving  heart  was  stilled 
By  the  assassin's  coward  stroke. 

15  II 


170  POETICAL    T1UBUTES   TO    THE 

But  though  with  mourning  it  has  filled 
The  nation's  breast,  it  has  awoke 

The  vengeance  of  a  noble  race, 

And  thousands  yet  to  earth  shall  reel, 

Ere  truth  the  double  crime  efface, 
With  fearless  musketry  and  steel. 

On  tablets  of  the  people's  heart 
The  records  of  his  deeds  will  rest, 

And  when  they  muse  of  him,  will  start 
Afresh,  the  tears  that  bathe  his  breast. 

With  Washington  his  name  shall  stand, 
As,  LINCOLN,  THE  OOOD  PRESIDENT, 

Who  hurled  rebellion  from  the  land, 

And  healed  the  wounds  that  strife  had  rent. 

And  springs  shall  come  and  go,  with  flowers 

And  blossoms  in  the  lucent  air, 
To  deck  the  shrine  of  wintry  showers, 

And  forests  moaning  like  despair; 

And  the  dread  gloom  of  conflict  part, 
And  come  the  happy  smile  of  peace; 

And  discord  leave  the  rankling  heart, 
And  reason  the  shut  mind  release; 

And  then  shall  they  who  hail  his  doom 
With  gladness,  bless  the  honored  name, 

And  drop,  repentant,  at  his  tomb, 
The  tears  that  seal  his  patriot  fame. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  171 

OURS  THE   CROSS;    THINE  THE   CROWN. 

By  Mrs.   R.   A.  CAMERON. 

"V/'ES,  "ours  the  cross,"  lamented  dead, 

And  thine  the  starry  crown; 
For  thou  hast  ceased  the  weary  fight, 

Thou'st  laid  thine  armor  down. 
A  diadem  of  light  now  rests 

Upon  thy  regal  brow; 
The  struggle  o'er  for  thee  at  last, 

A  victor  crowned  art  thou. 

Yes,  "ours  the  cross" — not  flower-crowned — 

We  still  must  journey  on, 
We  still  must  wage  the  fearful  fight 

Till  victory  is  won. 
But  thou  hast  passed  earth's  cloudy  vale. 

And  peace  and  joy  are  thine — 
Thou'rt  resting,  all  thy  labors  o'er, 

In  the  arms  of  Love  Divine. 

Thine  was  a  brave,  heroic  soul, 

Of  more  than  mortal  mould; 
Within  it  dwelt  all  pure  designs 

And  mercies  thousand-fold. 
The  angels'  song,  "Peace  and  good-will," 

Fell  on  thy  listening  ear, 
And  in  thy  heart  its  melody 

Waked  echoes  sweet  and  clear. 


172  POETICAL    TRIBUTES    TO    THE 

That  rarest  trait,  forgiveness,  shone 

Through  all  thy  noble  life, 
And  breathed  its  holy  influence  o'er 

The  last  of  earth's  sad  strife. 
With  blessings  for  thy  fallen  foes 

Thou  laidst  thy  great  life  down — 
Yes,  "ours  the  cross,"  brave,  noble  soul, 

And  thine,  the  starry  crown. 

A  glorious  crown  to  thee  is  given. 

Our  nation's  hope  and  pride — 
For  freedom's  holy  cause  alone 

A  martyr  thou  hast  died ! 
In  thy  rich  manhood's  prime,  thy  soul. 

That  well  earth's  ways  had  trod, 
Loosing  its  drapery  of  flesh, 

Went  peacefully  to  God. 

Thy  name  enshrined  shall  ever  be 

In  every  patriot  heart — 
Heavy  the  task  'twas  thine  to  share, 

And  nobly  borne  thy  part. 
A  nation  free  shall  send  thy  name 

Through  coming  ages  down — 
Thank  God,  though  ours  may  be  the  cross, 

Thine  is  the  victor's  crown ! 

Yes,  "ours  the  cross,  and  thine  the  crown," 

Brave,  noble,  patriot  soul ! 
Why  do  we  mourn?     The  battle's  past, 

And  thou  hast  reached  the  goal! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  173 

No  more  the  anxious  load  for  thee, 

No  more  the  weary  strife, 
Thou'rt  passed  from  sin  and  suffering  here 

Into  the  perfect  life. 

Thank  God  that  peaceful  rest  is  thine, 

Now  earth's  last  work  is  o'er, 
The  blissful  rest  of  heaven  and  home 

Upon  the  shining  shore. 
And  when  our  life-work,  too,  is  done, 

We  lay  our  armor  down, 
May  we,  our  crosses  left  behind, 

Like  thee,  receive  our  crown. 

Brashear  City,  Texas. 


By  J.  G.   FIELD. 

T?IVE  years  ago  you  laughed  with  us, 

Were  glad  when  we  were  gay; 
But  times  have  changed,  and  we  are  sad- 

So  sad  with  you  to-day. 
And  men  are  pale  at  news  so  dread- 
Lincoln  and  Seward  wounded — dead! 

Four  days  ago  the  cannon's  roar, 

Of  peace  the  welcome  sign, 
With  sound  so  grand  and  joyous  came 

Booming  across  the  line. 
To-day  bells  toll  in  many  towers; 
Tolling  on  your  side,  tolling  on  ours. 
15  * 


174  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Tolling  for  the  noble  dead — 

Lincoln,  loved  so  well. 
Oh !  we  grieve  with  you  to-day ; 

Words  can  hardly  tell 
How  our  thoughts  with  horror  creep, 
And  men  are  not  ashamed  to  weep ! 

Canada. 


By   EMILIE    LAWSON. 

for  the  dead ! — dead  ere  the  work  was  ended ! 
For  a  mighty  man  laid  low, 
And  a  nation  full  of  woe ! 
But  chime !  chime  for  a  king  Godward  ascended ! 

Chime  for  the  king  whose  name  no  shadow  staineth ! 

Who  bore  the  people's  cross, 

Counting  their  loss  his  loss; 
But  toll !  toll  that  this  cold  clay  is  what  remaineth ! 

Toll  for  the  warm  heart  stilled ;  the  kind  lips  breathless ; 

For  the  father  and  the  friend, 

Toll  till  all  time  shall  end! 
But  chime  for  the  great  soul,  unfettered — deathless! 

Nature's  beloved  guest!  born  in  a  forest, 

Where  whispers  of  the  wood 

Taught  him  love's  brotherhood; 
And  dead ! — dead  when  his  wise  hand  is  needed  sorest ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  175 

Toll !  for  the  nation's  heart  of  hearts  is  shaken  j 

While  vengeful  voices  cry 

In  fury  to  the  sky, 
Justice  is  man's !  and  earth  is  God-forsaken ! 

Have  we  forgotten  the  Lord  in  our  poor  blindness? 

Over  the  infinite  dark, 

Can  He  not  guide  our  ark, 
Who  calls  His  faithful  pilot  in  His  kindness  ? 

San  Francisco. 


H 


By  CHARLES  W.   REED. 

HE  church-bells  swing  above  our  heads,  the  heroes' 

cause  is  won  ; 
We'll  praise  our  God  with  joyful   shouts  for  what  His 

hand  hath  done  ; 
He  built  us  walls   on    either  side:   the  dark   Red  Sea 

of  blood 
Daunts  us   no   more,  for   treason    lies   engulfed  within 

its  flood. 

What   though   the    night   was   long  and    dark,  though 

war-clouds  brooded  high  ? 
What  though  we  shrank  from  widow's  tear  and  orphan's 

stricken  cry? 
The  cloud  of  fire  moved  at   our   front,  his   hand   had 

placed  it  there; 
We  trod  behind  with  steady  steps,  faith  hand  in  hand 

with  prayer. 


176  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

A  light  was  spreading  in  the  east,  it  broke   along  the 

sky; 
As    vampyres   flee    at    morn's    approach,  we    saw    the 

traitors  fly; 
And  as  they  fled  like  morning  mists   before  the  rising 

sun, 
We  lost  our  noble  cloud  of  fire ;  its  destined  work  was 

done. 

Weep  not,  0  nation,  for  thy  loss ;  God  doeth  all  things 
right; 

We  do  not  need  the  cloud  of  fire  when  He  has  banished 
night; 

But  praise  Him  as  we  hail  the  glow  of  victory's  gor- 
geous sun, 

That  He  took  the  workman  not  away  until  his  work 
was  done. 

Give  praise  to  God,  His  chosen  saints,  the  land  is  pure 

and  free ! 
0  may  His  grace  now  stir  the  earth  as  tempest  shakes 

the  sea ! 
His  hand   hath    held  our  banner  up,  hath    saved  each 

stripe  and  star; 
Oh  let  us  cluster  round  His  cross,  His  watchmen  call  to 

war! 

With   hands   outstretched,  on    Zion's   hill   we   marshal 

for  the  fray; 
Give  now,  0  God,  the  strength  of  steel  to  feeble  tools 

of  clay ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  177 

Let  Satan's  walls  fall  in  the  dust,  as  in  Thy  name  we 
come, 

And  when  our  toil  is  finished  here,  take  all  Thy  work- 
men home. 


ANONYMOUS. 

raging  earthquakes  bury  towns, 
Or  fierce  volcanoes  lash  their  manes 
Of  boundless,  fiery  ruin  round 

The  groaning  hills  and  shrieking  plains, 
The  world  may  fitting  emblems  find 
To  speak  the  horror  of  its  heart, 
In  cities  craped,  in  banners  furled. 
And  all  the  solemn  show  of  art. 

But  when  a  human  hand  is  turned 

Into  a  ruthless  demon-power, 
And  smites  a  nation  in  its  chief, 

Even  at  his  triumph's  crowning  hour, 
What  emblems  shall  man  fitting  find, 

What  types  sad,  grand  enough  to  show 
The  horror  shaking  continents, 

And  their  infinity  of  woe  ? 

Alas !  alas !  we  wildly  feel 

There  should  be  still  some  outward  sign. 
And  so  we  furl  the  shining  flag 

And  darkly  cloud  the  glowing  shrine. 
H* 


178  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

How  vain !     At  last  the  nation  lifts 
Its  naked  hands  to  heaven,  and  owns 

The  impotence  of  every  type 

Before  the  awful  throne  of  thrones : 

Then  silent  stands  and  thinks  of  him 

The  swerveless  good,  the  calmly  great : 
In  wonder  would  the  treason  pierce 

Of  their  beloved's  mystic  fate. 
Was  he  too  dear  an  idol  here? 

Too  merciful  for  this  dread  time  ? 
Did  Heaven  now  will  a  sterner  hand, 

With  justice  mailed,  to  guard  the  clime:' 

0  God  of  nations,  if  we  sin 

In  questioning,  forgive,  for  we 
Are  by  our  woe  driven  to  seek 

The  meaning  of  eternity ! 
Forgive,  and  bless,  and  make  us  feel 

That  Thou  wilt  still  love,  watch,  save  all, 
Though  even  the  best  of  rulers  die, 

Though  earth  should  sink  and  planets  fall! 


By  UNA. 


T 


HE  shouts  of  triumph,  loud  and  long, 

Ring  forth  throughout  the  land  ; 
The  Union's  sons  so  brave  and  firm, 
In  hosts  exulting  stand. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  179 

War's  dense,  black  clouds  are  cleft  in  twain, 

The  clear,  blue  sky's  between, 
Enamelled  in  the  azure  heaven, 

Our  dear  "old  flag"  is  seen! 

All  nature  smiles — the  earth  is  glad — 

The  song  of  freedom  sounds ! 
Her  sons  appear  in  laurel  decked, 

With  joy  the  air  resounds. 

But  hush !  amid  triumphant  notes 

There  conies  a  mournful  wail; 
Smiles  change  to  tears,  and  brave  hearts  break, 

A  nation's  brow  is  pale. 

Lo  !  as  the  lovely  bird  of  peace 

Soars  high,  with  wings  outspread, 
Her  pinions  fall,  she  fainting  droops — 

The  President  is  dead! 

He  who  hath  steered  our  Ship  of  State 

Through  fierce  ungrateful  wrath, 
Safely  o'er  treason's  boiling  waves, 

To  truth's  smooth,  tranquil  path, 

Is  stricken  down  by  murderous  hands — 

Oh  !  parricidal  crime  ! 
Earth  stands  aghast  at  such  a  deed, 

Unparalleled  in  time. 

In  sable  hues  we  shroud  our  flag, 
In  sackcloth  veil  its  stars, 


180  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

He  loved  it  so;  if  it  could  weep 
'Twoulcl  mingle  with  our  tears. 

The  nation's  father — ever  true 

Was  the  illustrious  chief — 
We  mourn  our  loss  in  deep  distress, 

With  stern  indignant  grief. 

Thou  martyred  one,  Columbia  weeps 

In  anguish  o'er  thy  tomb ; 
But  shining  angels  welcome  thee 

To  a  celestial  home ! 

Clod  of  our  Fathers  !  Thou  who  gav'st 

This  second  Washington 
Oh  !  guide  us  in   this  mighty  work 

Which  he  had  well-nigh  done. 

fiird  up  the  nation's  fainting  strength. 

Solace  her  bleeding  heart. 
And  wisdom  to  her  noble  sons 

Do  Thou  by  grace  impart. 

New    Orleans. 

By   G.    MARTIN. 

swells  the  unusual  wail, 
In  heart-gusts,  o'er  the  murdered  man. 
His  life,  my  wounded  soul,  unveil, 
His  entrance  and  his  exit  scan  ; 
For  as  in  Tinmath  Samson  drew 
Sweets  from  the  noble  lion  dead. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  181 

So  may  a  living  soul  renew 
Its  vigor  from  the  martyr'slaed. 

Dimly  within  the  western  woods, 

Where  Indiana  smiles,  we  see 
A  peasant  boy,  whose  thoughtful  moods 

.Still  bear  him  onward  hopefully. 
With  heart  benevolent  and  blythe. 

Which  aches  but  at  another's  pain. 
He  wields  the  axe,  the  hoe,  the  scythe. 

Singing  the  glad  songs  of  freedom's  reign. 

And  when  to  manhood  grown,  full  taught, 

By  rushing  flood  and  winged  wind, 
What  freedom  meant,  one  holy  thought 

Ruled  paramount  within  his  mind. 
That  thought  was — justice  to   the  slave, 

Leading  to  words  and  acts  sublime, 
And  musings  how  he  yet  might  save 

His  country  from  her  shameful  crime. 

At  length  a  statesman,  rough,  but  true. 

Anon  Columbia's  chosen  chief, 
He  stands,  and  in  the  world's  broad  view 

Declares  his  purpose,  firm  and  brief. 
The  hour  of  trial  hastens  fast — 

Rebellion's  roar,  and  battle's  shock ; 
He  meets  the  suffocating  blast, 

And  stands  unmoved,  a  granite  rock. 

Seven  crimson  seasons  o'er  him  roll, 
And  treason,  rampant,  stands  at  bay; 

1C 


182  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  with  a  calm,  unshrinking  soul, 

In  heaven  Be  trusts,  and  leads  the  way. 

In  patriarchal  tones  he  speaks, 
And  from  a  million  swarthy  limbs 

The  chains  fall  off — oppression  shrieks — 
And  liberty  sings  glorious  hymns. 

And  as  the  bellowing  strife  prevails, 

The  star-led  world  looks  on  amazed; 
But  right,  oft  baffled,  never  quails, 

The  rebel  crew  reel  backward,  crazed. 
And  in  the  dust  -their  banner  lies, 

Trampled  and  torn — no  more  to  shame 
The  light  of  the  eternal  skies 

With  slavery's  accursed  name. 

His  country's  saved,  his  work  achieved. 

He  boasted  not  of  what  he'd  done, 
But  rather,  in  his  goodness  grieved 

For  all  sad  hearts  beneath  the  sun. 
For  even  his  most  malignant  foes, 

Blind  perverts  !  whom  he  sought -to  save 
From  ruin's  toppling  crash ;  their  woes 

He  pitied,  and  their  faults  forgave. 

And  now  his  genial  spirits  seek 

Their  wonted  channel — war's  fierce  rage 

Had  surged  against  his  pallid  cheek, 
And  multiplied  the  signs  of  age. 

A  moment's  respite  from  the  storm, 
A  little  rest  from  goading  care. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  183 

His  people  fain  to  see  his  form 

Where  mirth  and  music  thrill  the  air. 

Beside  him  smiles  his  loving  wife, 

Leaning  upon  the  honored  man 
Whose  life  to  her  is  more  than  life, 

Who  feels  as  only  woman  can. 
Guileless  himself,  he  could  not  think 

That  treason's  foulest  whelp  had  power 
To  push  him  off  from  earth's  dim  brink 

In  such  a  place,  at  such  an  hour. 

Behind  him  glares  the  demon  eye. 

Behind  him  moves  the  demon  hand, 
A  quick,  sharp  sound — a  start,  a  cry ! 

Then  gleams  aloft  the  hellish  brand. 
'Tis  done !  his  venerable  head 

Sinks  peacefully — his  soul  departs; 
The  honest  President  is  dead, 

And  with  him  die  all  human  hearts. 

Go,  student  of  the  vanished  years, 

Compare  the  democratic  sage, 
Whose  exit  leaves  the  world  in  tears, 

With  the  crowned  sons  of  every  age. 
His  humble  birth  with  theirs  compare, 

His  labor  'gainst  their  leisure  weigh; 
Mark  well  how,  shunning  every  snare, 

He  kept  the  straight  and  narrow  way. 

Draw  thence  this  lesson — honest  worth, 
That  brightens  more  the  more  'tis  tried, 


184  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

"Will  triumph  yet  o'er  all  the  earth, 

And  take  the  place  of  poinp  and  pride. 

And  also — the  assassin's  hand 

May  smite  the  body,  not  the  truth 

That  in  the  body  bears  command — 
For  virtue  wears  immortal  youth. 

Montreal,    Canada. 


By    F.   L.   N- 


!  toll  ye  bells,  from  ev'ry  belfried  tower ! 
Toll  forth  the  story  of  the  nation's  woe — 
From  where  th'  Atlantic  sounds  the  ocean's  dirge 
To  old  Pacific's  shore — toll  forth  the  knell  j 
Tell  of  the  people's  anguish  for  the  dead, 
The  poor  man's  friend,  the  champion  of  the  slave. 
Thou,  "  Lord  of  hosts,"  to  whom  all  vengeance  is, 
Four  millions  freed  from  slav'ry's  galling  chains; 
The  blood  of  hero-martyrs ;  send  forth  a  prayer  to  Thee, 
That  Thou  wilt  hear  in  this  our  hour  of  need. 
May  we  ascribe  to  Thee  all  power  and  might, 
Praise  Thee,  0  God !  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
And  not  in  man  put  all  that  trust  we  owe, 
To  Him  who  holds  all  nations  in  His  hands. 
But  may  our  prayer,  in  this  dark  hour  of  need, 
When  shadows  thickly  gather  o'er  our  land, 
Be  that  of  Him  who  died  that  we  might  live. 
Thy  will,  0  God !  not  ours,  be  freely  done. 


MEMORY  OF   ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  185 


By    A.   E.   H- 


rpHE  nation's  chief  is  dead  ! 

His  bright  career  is  o'er; 
To-day  our  bleeding  country  mourns, 
As  she  ne'er  wept  before ! 

But  he's  left  a  monument 

As  deathless  as  his  name, 
Rear'd  by  the  fiat  he  sent  forth, 

Which  broke  base  slavery's  chain. 

The  solemn  toll  of  bells 

Speaks  anguish  to  the  breast, 

While  booming  cannon  tell  the  tale, 
A  hero's  gone  to  rest! 

The  glorious  stars  and  stripes, 
Proud  emblems  of  our  worth, 

In  folds  of  sorrow,  draped  in  woe, 
Hang  sweeping  to  the  earth. 

The  strong  man  stands  aghast, 
As  the  news  falls  on  his  ear; 

While  the  deep  pulsations  of  the  heart 
Beat  high  with  doubt  and  fear. 

Children  shall  learn  the  tale, 
As  they  are  taught  their  creed, 

And  execrate  the  monster  wretch 
Who  dared  to  do  the  deed ! 

if,  * 


186  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

History  shall  mark  the  page, 
The  records  of  this  crime; 

While  curses  on  the  assassin's  name 
Roll  through  all  coming  time. 

Crowned  heads  shall  pale  with  fear 
When  the  bloody  act  is  told; 

For  the  writing  may  be  on  the  wall 
For  them,  like  one  of  old. 

The  traitors  of  our  land 

The  future  well  may  dread; 

For  treason's  fate,  in  letters  bold, 
Is  marked  on  every  head. 

The  blood  of  Lincoln  cries 

From  earthly  courts  to  heaven, 

Let  justice,  with  her  sternest  power, 
To  rebel  heads  be  given. 

Pray  for  their  crimson  souls, 
That  grace  the  heart  renew; 

But,  lest  temptation  overcome, 
Let  the  gallows  have  its  due. 


By    EMMA. 

TTE  sleeps,  he  sleeps,  our  noble  chief. 

He  rests  in  death's  embrace; 
And  saddened  grief  is  now  displayed 
Upon  Columbia's  face; — 


31 EM OR  Y   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  187 

For  her  most  cherished,  honored  son 

Has  passed  unto  the  tonib, — 
A  victim  to  a  demon's  plot; 

A  nation  mourns  his  doom. 

Our  flag — the  glorious  stars  and  stripes, 

The  red,  the  white,  and  blue, 
Has  now  another  color  mid 

Those  bright  tri-colors  true. 
It  mourns;  and  hangs  its  sacred  head, 

Baptized  with  many  a  tear, 
In  darkened  sorrow  now  unfurled. 

Upon  our  chieftain's  bier. 

Like  Moses  on  mount  Pisgah's  top, 

He  saw  the  land  beyond; 
And  in  his  heart  he  thanked  God  for 

The  glory  which  had  dawned. 
But  "  death  came  with  a  lifted  spear," 

And  he,  the  pure  and  true, 
Was  called  away  unto  his  home, 

Beyond  the  heaven's  blue. 

We  trust  in  God,  our  nation's  shield; 

He  will  His  children  keep, 
Our  "  Ship  of  State "  sails  bravely  on, 

And  breasts  the  waters  deep; 
No  hand  but  God's  can  rend  our  flag, 

Which  floats  in  freedom  now, 
No  will  but  His  can  save  this  land, 

And  to  that  "Will"  we  bow. 


188  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Far  off  in  future's  sky,  I  see 

One  glowing,  glistening  star, 
It  bursts,  and  lo,  our  native  land 

Is  free  from  bloody  war, 
Along  fair  Kappahannock's  shore, 

There  is  no  war-cry's  ring, 
But  o'er  each  soldier's  sepulchre 

There  droops  an  angel's  wing. 

From  the  receding  clouds  of  war, 

Appears  a  gleaming  hand, 
And  holds  within  its  tightened  grasp 

The  emblem  of  our  land. 
Above  that  hand  are  letters  bright, 

And  carved  in  purest  gold, 

"BE   STILL,   AND   KNOW   THAT  I  AM   GrOD !' 

Ye  nations  now  behold ! 


By  GERTRUDE. 

TT7EEP !  for  a  nation  mourns  to-day 

™     Her  loved  and  honored  dead. 
Yea,  weep !  while  mournful  dirges  play 
And  obsequies  are  said. 
The  father  of  our  native  land, 
Our  leader  through  this  night, 
Is  numbered  with  that  martyr  band. 
Who  walk  on  high  in  white. 

Just  as  the  clouds  had  passed  away 
And  dawned  the  morning  light; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  189 

Upon  him,  dawned  eternal  day, 
When  comes  no  cloudy  night, 
Life's  battles  fought,  its  conflict  o'er 
There  comes  a  peaceful  calm; 
His"  work  is  done,  on  the  other  shore 
He  waves  the  victor's  palm. 

And  midst  that  glorious  victor  band, 
Are  those,  the  brave  ones  slain, 
For  freedom  and  their  native  land, 
Who  sleep  on  battle  plains. 
We  mourn  for  them  in  cot  and  hall, 
The  loved  ones  fallen  asleep. 
Again  our  hearts  are  mourning  all, 
For  our  President,  we  weep. 

Weep !  0  America,  thy  tears 

Ne'er  for  more  faithful  fell. 

In  vain  we  glance  to  future  years, 

For  one  we'll  love  as  well. 

But,  Christian  martyr,  rest  in  peace, 

Thy  faithful  labors  o'er; 

Earth's  trials,  sorrows,  all  shall  cease, 

Rest,  rest  for  evermore  ! 


(^  ONE  where  the  angels  are  singing 
^    In  the  light  of  eternal  day; 
Gone  where  the  seraphs  are  smiling, 
High  over  the  starry  way; 


100  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Gone  where  the  thrones  of  crystal 
Gleaui  bright  in  the  halls  above. 

Far  away  from  earth 'b  red  passions. 
To  the  realms  of  endless  love. 

He  may  bless  the  Jiand  that  sent  him. 

(Though  a  demon  struck  the  blow) 
To  be  free  from  cares  woe-laden, 

In  this  weary  land  below ; 
Yet  we  cursed  the  fiend  that  robbed  us 

Of  the  soul  of  his  beaming  eye, 
And  set  death's  darkest  signet  seal 

With  a  malice  of  darker  dye. 

The  big  world's  breast  is  heaving 

With  a  weight  that  none  may  say; 
And  its  eyes  are  cold  and  joyless 

As  the  clammy  church-yard  clay; 
And  its  heart  is  beating  sadly 

As  the  sound  of  a  funeral  bell, 
For  he  was  called  to  his  resting 

While  rending  the  chains  of  hell. 

Gull-winged  commerce,  crape  thy  pluming ; 

Turret  flags  fly  idly  now; 
Sullen  cannon,  cease  thy  booming; 

Glistening  furrow,  spurn  the  plough ; 
For  the  tones  that  filled  with  gladness 

City,  hamlet,  valley,  hill, 
Now  are  hushed  as  summer  twilight, 

And  his  lips  are  icy  still. 


MEMORY  OF  ABKAHAM  LINCOLN.  191 

River,  glide  through  the  weeping  willows. 

And  moan  on  your  winding  way ; 
For  you'll  miss  his  voice,  ay,  sadly, 

When  your  sunniest  wavelets  play. 
Ocean,  spread  in  trackless  grandeur, 

N  fiith  the  dome  of  the  spring-time  sky 
Bid  your  waters  sigh  as  the  night  wind, 

When  the  rushing  storm  is  nigh. 

Thunder,  growl  from  your  airy  cloud-home, 

That  the  nation's  pride  is  fled; 
Lightning,  lance  your  darts  in  sable. 

For  man's  best  brother's  dead; 
May  dews,  fall  in  pearly  beauty. 

Lightly  sweet  where  the  hero  sleeps, 
For  he  smiles  from  above  on  a  mourning  people, 

And  o'er  his  country  a  good  guard  keeps. 

llis  name  will  blaze  in  the  roll  of  story, 
And  ages  coming  will  sigh  and  tell. 

How  he  nobly  fought  in  the  cause  of  freedom, 
And  in  the  cause  of  freedom  fell. 


By    E.   V.  £- 


A   NATION'S  mighty  heart 
•*-*•     Throbs  with  a  voiceless  woe; 

The  skies  in  pity  weep, 
The  winds  are  sobbing  low, 
The  gentle  stars  have  veiled  their  light, 
And  deep'ning  gloom  enshrouds  the  night. 


POETICAL    TRIBVTES   TO    THE 

The  patriot  heart  is  stilled — 

Stilled  by  a  murderer's  hand ! 
Strong  men  are  bowed  in  grief, 
And  mourning  fills  the  land, 
And  countless  eyes  are  dimmed  with  tears- 
Sad  hearts  oppressed  with  anxious  fears. 

A  few  brief  days  agone 

Bells  rang  with  merry  peal : 
And  brightening  omens  told 
Our  country's  future  weal; 
Flags  floated  on  the  sun-lit  air, 
The  night  was  o'er  of  our  despair. 

How  changed  the  joyous  scene ! 

Now  draped  in  midnight  gloom 
The  stars  and  stripes  he  loved : — 
Oh,  plant  them  o'er  his  tomb : 
Thus  may  the  sacred  emblem  keep 
Sweet  vigil  o'er  his  peaceful  sleep. 

That  warm  and  kindly  heart, 
It  knew  no  bitter  thought; 
With  hopeful  faith  and  love, 

Its  deeds  of  mercy  wrought : 
It  ne'er  betrayed  our  fervent  trust — 
Our  country  guards  the  hallowed  dust ! 


MEMOJtY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  193 

"SIC   SEMPER   TYRANNIS!" 

ANONYMOUS. 

((  CIC  SEMPER  TYRANNIS  !"     Oh  sentence  of  might. 
When  pronounced  in  the  service  of  freedom  and 

right ! 

Yet  how  false  is  its  meaning  to  true  hearts  and  brave : 
When  it  falls  from  the  lips  of  the  coward  and  knave. 
Each  drop  of  the  blood  that  so  basely  was  shed, 
Like  a  mountain  shall  rest  on  the  parricide's  head; 
And  to  those  who  urged  on  the  foul  fiend  on  his  track. 
"  Thus  ever  to  traitors !"  we  answer  them  back. 

"  Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  !"     Oh  recreant  State  ! 
The  words  of  your  motto  have  sealed  your  own  fate. 
The  blood  of  the  bondman  cried  out  from  your  soil, 
The  tears  of  his  anguish,  the  sweat  of  his  toil — 
The  right  arm  of  justice  was  bared  for  the  blow, 
And  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  in  dust  is  laid  low ; 
And  when  the  last  hope   of  rebellion  shall  die, 
"Thus  ever  with  traitors!"  shall  sound  from  on  high. 

"  Sic  Semper  Tyrannis !"     The  judgments  of  God 
Are  written  in  letters  of  blood  on  your  sod. 
Oh  where  was  your  mercy,  when  true  hearts  and  brave. 
By  a  slow  wasting  famine  went  down  to  the  grave  ? 
Ay,  the  walls  of  your  prison  a  story  can  tell, 
Which  would  put  to  the  blush  e'en  the  demons  of  hell: 
17  I 


194  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  the  arrow  of  justice  unerring  has  sped, 

"  Thus  ever  with  traitors  I"  in  judgment  is  said. 

"  Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  I"     That  sentence  repeat, 
When  your  hosts  shall  be  scattered  in  hopeless  defeat — 
Nor  fail  to  remember  that  you  were  the  first 
To  kindle  the  flames   of  rebellion  accurst. 
Our  protest  went  down  from  the  North  to  the  South, 
Till  we  thundered  it  forth  from  the  cannon's  red  mouth, 
And  the  dust  of  our  fathers  re-echoed  the  cry — 
"  Thus  ever  with  traitors !     Ay,  thus  let  them  die  !" 

"  Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  I"     Our  life  has  not  fled. 
Though  a  blow  has  been  struck  at  our  national  head, 
It  but  adds  a  new  impulse,  and  gives  a  fresh  start, 
To  the  true  loyal  blood  in  the  national  heart; 
And  the  future  shall  prove,  when  the  conflict  is  done, 
That  the  hearts  of  the  people  are  beating  as  one, 
And  the  words  from  our  lips,  that  in  judgment  shall  fall, 
"Thus  ever  with  traitors!"  are  echoed  by  all. 


By  L.   H.  J- 


TTEARD  ye  that  fearful  knell?     Its  solemn  tone 
L  Proclaims  the  death  of  freedom's  noblest  son  ! 
Throughout  the  coasts  of  our  once  favored  land, 
That  thrilling  note  resounds.     A  traitor's  hand, 
Impelled  by  treacherous  hate  of  all  that's  good, 
Has  dared  to  shed  our  country's  dearest  blood. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  195 

Heard  ye  that  cannon's  boom?     It  tells  a  tale 
Of  deepest  woe !     It  is  a  nation's  wail — 
The  mighty  throbbings  of  its  bitter  grief 
For  its  own  chosen,  honored,  murdered  chief. 
From  lake  to  gulf,  from  the  Atlantic  shore 
To  the  Pacific  coast,  is  heard  its  mournful  roar. 

Heard  ye  that  muffled  drum?     It  bids  us  pause 
And  weep  the  saddest  loss  to  freedom's  cause — 
A  crime  that  will  consign  the  actor's  name 
To  infamy  and  everlasting  shame: 
The  foulest  deed  that  ever  sought  a  place 
In  the  dark  annals  of  the  human  race. 

Heard  ye  that  mournful  dirge?     Its  plaintive  strain 

Fills  every  patriot  heart  with  grief  and  pain. 

It  is  the  dirge  of  one  that  loved  his  race, 

In  whose  kind  heart  hate  never  found  a  place; 

Whose  public  acts  were  all  for  human  good — 

Who  thought  to  favor  those  who  shed  his  blood ! 

You  sons  of  freemen,  while  you  shed  the  tear 
Of  grief  around  your  cherished  chieftain's  bier, 
Before  high  Heaven  resolve,  that  come  what  may, 
From  this  sad  hour  until  your  dying  day, 
You  will,  with  Heaven's  aid  defend  "the  right." 
And  war  for  freedom  with  your  utmost  might. 

Not  for  the  freedom  of  a  haughty  few, 
Who  dare  to  claim  the  race  for  service  due, 
Who  arrogate  the  right  to  sell  and  buy 
Their  fellow-men  for  hopeless  slavery; 


196  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  for  the  freedom  of  the  entire  race — 
In  every  clime — in  every  land  and  place. 

Resolve,  that  from  this  consecrated  hour, 
Our  country  shall  be  free  from  slavery's  power- 
That  tyranny  shall  die,  and  this  shall  be 
Truly  the  glorious  land  of  liberty— 
That  pride  and  arrogance,  and  savage  spite. 
Shall  no  more  triumph  over  human  right. 

Resolve,  that  he  whose  death  we  mourn  to-day, 
Whose  life  a  tyrant's  minion  took  away, 
Shall  be  revenged  by  making  all  men  free 
From  the  behests  of  blood-stained  slavery — 
That  Lincoln — henceforth,  evermore  shall  be 
The  watchword  of  our  blood-bought  liberty. 

His  life,  the  dawning  of  a  better  day; 
He  was  the  morning-star  whose  golden  ray. 
Resplendent  shone  upon  the  waning  night 
Amid  the  beams  of  morning's  rising  light. 
He  touched  the  zenith — quickly  passed  away 
The  harbinger  of  freedom's  brighter  day. 

The  first  grand  act  of  our  great  nation's  play 
Ends  with  the  curtain-drop  of  this  sad  day; 
To-morrow  opens  a  new  scene  of  things — 
The  joy  of  freemen  and  the  grief  of  kings. 
The  nation  rising  from  her  martyr's  fall, 
Gives  freedom  and  the  rights  of  man  to  all ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  197 


ANONYMOUS. 

E AD !  dead  !  struck  down  in  his  prime, 

With  the  weight  of  God's  mighty  work  on  him 

Dead !  dead !  struck  down  by  assassins, 

The  tools  of  a  cursed  rebellion. 

Dead  in  the  first  blush  of  the  dawning 

That  breaks  on  the  night  of  the  ages; 

On  the  verge  of  the  century's  triumph ; 

The  triumph  of  God  over  Mammon. 

Like  Moses,  he  caught  from  his  Pisgah 

The  wonderful  glories  and  brightness 

That  glistened  along  the  far  hill-tops 

Which  rose  o'er  the  land  of  his  promise ; 

Like  Moses,  the  head,  heart,  and  spirit 

Of  hosts  which  he  led  on  to  triumph; 

Like  Moses  he  fell  on  the  confines, 

And  died  with  the  harness  yet  on  him. 

Through  years  of  most  foul  persecution, 
Of  calumny  base  and  black-hearted, 
Dark  fears,  high  hopes  and  quick  perils, 
War's  storms,  and  the  tempests  of  factions, 
He  steered  the  tos't  bark  of  the  nation. 
And  now,  as  the  weary-sought  haven 
Just  looms  indistinct  through  the  vapors; 
And  the  breezes  from  landward,  regaling 
The  sense  with  the  perfume  of  olives; 
And  the  dove,  on  venturous  pinion, 
Flies  seaward  to  greet  the  returning 
17  * 


198 


Of  the  ship  that  the  storms  and  the  tempests 
Have  wasted  their  strength  to  destroy — 
Where  is  he,  our  master  and  pilot? 
Brave  heart,  that  unquelled  and  undaunted 
Hath  faced  and  defied  the  blasts'  roaring; 
Clear  head,  that  amid  all  the  darkness 
Hath  seen  the  far-off  consummation ; 
Strong  arm,  that  with  grasp  so  unyielding 
Held  the  helm  to  the  hurricane's  shock, 
While  our  good  ship  sped  on  like  an  arrow. 
Nor  swerved  by  so  much  as  a  hand-breadth 
From  the  path  of  her  glory  and  triumph. 
Dead,  dead  on  the  deck,  and  the  nation 
Stands  speechless  to-day!     But  to-morrow, 
When  its  pulse's  mighty  throbbing  is  calmer, 
And  its  great  heart  beats  steady  once  more; 
Then,  better  its  foes  had  a  mill-stone 
About  them,  to  drag  them  head  downward 
For  aye  in  the  depth  of  the  ocean. 
For  the  mill-stone's  a  toy  and  a  plaything 
Beside  a  great  people's  great  anguish, 
And  the  sea  is  a  pool  to  the  billows 
Which  shall  roll  in  flood-tides  of  vengeance, 
Deep,  deep,  o'er  the  damned  assassins. 
Not  the  two  or  three  ruffians,  the  tools 
In  the  hands  of  craftier  masters, 
For  they  shall  escape  by  mere  dying; 
But  the  terrible,  fierce  retribution 
Shall  fall  on  the  heads  of  the  traitors 
Who  inspired  and  advised  the  foul  murder. 


MEMOJiY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  199 

So,  back  in  the  march  of  the  centuries, 

The  curse  fell  not  on  the  centurion; 

Nor  rested  its  weight  on  one  Judas; 

But  down  to  the  last  generation, 

From  father  to  son,  and  to  son's  son, 

The  curse,  growing  heavier  and  heavier, 

Rests,  and  shall  rest,  forever  and  ever. 

In  vain  was  their  fiendish  endeavor, 

Who  hoped  in  Christ's  grave  clothes  and  linen 

To  stifle  man's  hopes  of  redemption, 

And  bury  God's  will  in  man's  tomb. 

And  as  vain  is  their  hope  who  relying 

On  mammon  and  treason  and  murder, 

Would  roll  back  the  spring-tides  of  progress, 

Annulling  the  will  of  Jehovah, 

Consigning  the  world's  hopes  of  freedom 

To  darkness  and  slavery  again. 

Farewell,  thou,  our  father  and  brother ! 
The  grave  can  receive  but  not  hold  thee; 
Thy  spirit  shall  live  on  triumphant; 
Thy  name  shall  be  liberty's  watchword; 
Thy  glory  stream  down  through  the  ages ; 
Thy  rnem'ry  be  sacred  to  freemen; 
Thy  fame  be  thy  country's  and  God's. 


200  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  Rev.   Dr.  S.   D.   PHELPS. 

HOW  is  the  strong  staff  broken, 
And  rent  the  beauteous  rod ! 
How  strangely  hast  Thou  spoken, 

0  sovereign,  righteous  God! 
Like  startled  volleyed  thunder, 

Dashed  from  a  cloudless  sky, 
All  horror-struck,  we  wonder, 

And  trembling  ask,  oh  why  ? 
Oh  why  this  sudden  sadness, 

Flung  o'er  our  brightening  path. 
To  fill  our  sky  of  gladness 

With  awful  forms  of  wrath  ? 
0  Father  !  we  adore  Thee : 

We  know  Thy  reign  is  just; 
Smitten,  we  bow  before  Thee — 

Our  place  is  in  the  dust. 

How  is  the  strong  staff  broken  ! — 

The  nation  mourns  its  chief, 
And  showering  tears  betoken 

Its  mighty  loss  and  grief! 
The  tide  of  triumph  swelling. 

Confounded,  staggers  back ; 
From  mast  and  hall  and  dwelling, 

The  banner  droops  in  black ! 
Hark !  freedom's  bells  are  tolling ; 

Her  solemn  cannons  roar; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  201 

And  sorrow's  billows  rolling, 

Break  mournful  on  the  shore. 
0  land  !  bereaved,  forsaken, 

Thy  head  and  father  falls! 
That  life  by  treason  taken, 

For  justice  loudly  calls! 

How  is  the  strong  staff"  broken, 

That  held  us  'niid  the  storm ! 
Our  safety's  cherished  token, 

We  clung  around  his  form  ; 
Till  Moses-like,  he  renders — 

Near  through  the  exodus — 
His  soul,  where  Nebo  splendors 

Beam  bright  in  hope  for  us ! 
Through  all  the  strife  remaining. 

Be  Thou,  0  God,  our  guide, 
The  cause  of  right  maintaining. 

For  which  our  Lincoln  died ! 
The  nation's  heart  enshrining 

Her  noblest  martyr  son. 
Shall  keep  his  glory  shining 

Like  that  of  Washington  ! 

ANONYMOUS. 

people  are  mourning 
From  the  east  to  the  west; 
We  bear  to  his  slumber 
Our  wisest  and  best. 
I* 


202  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

A  light  has  departed, — 
Our  beacon  for  years, — 

And  left  our  proud  nation 
In  darkness  and  tears. 

But  the  glooni  o'er  our  hearts 

Will  not  linger  long; 
May  those  sad  tears  give  place 

To  freedom's  glad  song, 
For  our  brave  Lincoln's  name 

Like  our  banner  unfurled, 
Will  now  fling  its  glories 

Abroad  to  the  world. 

A  name  to  the  list 

Of  the  names  that  we  love, 
A  soul  to  the  circle 

Of  dear  ones  above  ! 
A  star  in  that  banner 

The  breeze  never  bore, 
Which  beams  in  the  temple 

Of  those  gone  before. 

Oh  dark  was  the  morning 

That  dawned  o'er  his  close ! 
His  life  given  up 

To  the  land  of  our  foes  : 
In  the  day  of  our  troubles 

The  hope  of  each  breast — 
Our  pilot  in  storms, 

And  our  haven  of  rest. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  203 

Our  eagle  will  mourn 

O'er  the  patriot's  grave, 
And  emblem  the  grief 

Of  the  free,  and  the  brave, 
And  the  couch  of  the  sleeper 

Is  holy  with  prayer, 
And  the  hearts  of  our  people 

Are  gathering  there. 

Sad,  slow  was  the  march 

Of  the  funeral  train, 
And  gloomy  the  banners, 

And  mournful  the  strain; 
Silent  and  solemn 

That  multitude  moved — 
The  homage  of  freedom 

To  one  whom  they  loved. 

Oh  thus  be  forever 

Our  feelings  outpoured. 
To  him  who  is  worthy — 

The  patriot's  reward ! 
In  that  nation  which  rises 

Such  men  to  revere, 
Oh  who  can  disunion 

Or  slavery's  curses  fear ! 


204  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    ELLERTON    ROSARR. 

"Death  to  death  by  felon  hand 
For  guarding  well  his  fatherland." 

TITEEP  for  the  nation's  sins,  heap  ashes  on  the  head; 

*  '     And  humbly  bend  in  fervent  prayer, 
Like  the  holy  man  that's  dead. 

Let  the  nation's   tears   o'erflow,  and  with  muffled  foot- 
steps tread, 

As  they  look  on  the  face  of  the  uncrowned  king; 
The  mighty  man  that's  dead. 

The  uplifting  of  his  hand,  last  night  the  nation  led ; 
Cursed  be  the  traitor  heart,  and  hand, 
Who  smote  the  mighty  dead. 

The  great   men  of  our    Senate-house,  with    grief  bow 

down  the  head, 

And  the  soldier  mourns,  and  the  poor  man  weeps 
For  the  great  true  heart,  that's  dead. 

The   negro   lifts   free    hands  to  Heaven,    who    erst    in 

chains  was  led, 

And  blesses  the  God  who  made  us  all 
For  the  mighty  man  that's  dead. 

Montreal,  Canada. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  205 


By    MARTHA    PERRY    LOWE. 

T  AY  him  to  rest ;  lay  him  deep  in  the  ground ; 
-^  Full  long  enough  ye  have  borne  him  around, 
With  the  tramping  of  horses,  the  weary  drum  beat, 
Before  all  the  eyes,  and  the  glare  of  the  street: — 
Lay  him  to  rest. 

They  were  eyes  full  of  love,  they  were   eyes  that   did 

weep, 

And  the  dullness  of  death  on  the  cities  did  creep; 
But  now  let  him  go,  gentle  friends,  to  his  rest; 
Let  him  go  to  his  home  in  the  heart  of  the  West: — 
Lay  him  to  rest. 

Why  did  we  take  him  from  fair  Illinois? 

He  was  young  in  her  woods,  he  was  fresh  as  a  boy:- 

Why  did  we  set  him  in  that  high  place, 

And  bring  all  the  furrows  of  care  to  his  face  ? 

Why  do  we  send  him  back  to  his  land, 
With  a  blood  mark  upon  him  from  traitorous  hand? 
Why  do  we  show  them  the  wound  in  his  head, 
And  say  not  a  word  but  "behold  he  is  dead?" 

We  brought  him  from  westward  because  he  was  just; 
We  made  him  our  chieftain,  we  gave  him  our  trust; 
Serene  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult  he  stood, 
And  we  learned  that  'tis  greatest  of  all  to  be  good. 

We've  let  him  die  for  us — yes,  we've  let  him  die, 
With  his  armor  all  on,  as  the  soldier  boys  lie ; 

18 


206  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Not  a  moment  of  warning — a  message  to  tell ; 

And  we  say  he  sleeps  well — and  we  say  he  sleeps  well ! 

Be  proud,  Illinois,  for  to  you  it  was  given 

To  raise  up  the  noblest  of  martyrs  for  heaven ! 

Be  pure,  Illinois,  for  now  'tis  your  part 

To  let  the  dear  ashes  repose  on  your  heart! 

Lay  him  to  rest,  lay  him  to  rest 
On  Illinois'  breast! 


By    G.   F.  S . 

C\  THOU,  whose  voice  from  Sinai's  mount 

^     In  tones  of  thunder  spake, 

While  lightnings  girt  her  summit  round, 

And  made  the  mountain  quake; 
Whose  ways  mysterious,  mandates  just, 

In  wondrous  power  displayed, 
Doth  lay  whole  nations  in  the  dust, 

And  strike  their  rulers  dead — 

Hear  Thou  our  supplicating  prayer, 

"And  when  Thou  hearest  forgive;" 
0  Lord !  our  bleeding  country  spare, 

And  bid  our  Union  live. 
Our  land  in  human  blood  is  steeped 

By  fratricidal  war; 
While  "Rachel  for  her  children  weeps," 

We  mourn  our  second  sire. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  207 

Not  blood  of  bulls  nor  goats  is  sent 

For  sin  our  sacrifice, 
But  our  beloved  PRESIDENT 

On  freedom's  altar  dies ! 
0  Lord !  in  mercy,  not  in  wrath, 

Make  known  to  us  Thy  will, 
Guide  us  by  love  in  wisdom's  path, 

And  say  Thou,  "  PEACE,  be  still." 


By    Mrs.  J.  T.   ROBINSON. 

~DE  still — and  know  that  I  am  God!" 

Father,  to  this  sublime  decree, 
We,  smarting  'neath  Thy  fearful  rod, 
Adore  the  grace  we  cannot  see. 

We  trusted  that  our  honor'd  head 

Would  bring  us  to  the  promised  land, 

But  Thou  to  Pisgah's  top  hast  led, 

Pointed — and  then  withdrew  Thy  hand. 

It  was  a  fiend  who  did  the  deed 

Which  turned  a  nation's  joy  to  woe; 

But  He  who  knows  a  nation's  need, 
Will  thro'  that  wrath  His  praises  show. 

God  is  not  dead.     He  rules  the  wave; 

Our  Ship  of  State  shall  not  go  down; 
Jesus  but  sleeps — He'll  wake  to  save, 

And  tyrant  storms  shall  feel  His  frown. 


208  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  oh !  our  loved,  our  lost,  our  true ! 

Our  country's  saviour,  hope  and  stay ! 
Murdered  and  martyred  saint!  for  you 

We  weep  in  bitterness  to-day. 

Father!  forgive  not  his  high  crime 
Who  aimed  at  Christ  in  killing  him, 

Bring  to  a  punishment  condign, 

The  wretch,  who  did  the  murderous  sin. 


ANONYMOUS. 

"Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust." 

FATHERLAND!  the  homestead;  of  whose  sire.s 
Are  smoking  still  with  sacrificial  fires, 

Whose  offerings  alone — 
Thy  choicest  children,  beautiful  and  brave — 

For  wrong  could  not  atone : 

0  land!  upon  whose  scarred  and  bleeding  breast 
Thy  countless  heroes  lie,  securely  pressed, 

Out  of  the  wrath  of  sin, 
Open  once  more  its  all-enshrouding  vest, 

And  fold  your  best  beloved  in! 

And  let  us  weep  that  one  with  faith  so  great, 
Whose  peerless  patience  thus  could  watch  and  wait 

To  work  the  great  release, 
Thus,  only,  stricken  from  his  high  estate, 

Might  enter  into  peace. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  209 

And,  bringing  laurel  for  the  good  man's  grave, 
Blest  in  the  heritage  he  died  to  save, 

Let  all  the  people  come, 
And  vow  its  future  worthily  shall  wear 

This  crowning  martyrdom. 

And  on  and  on,  through  all  the  circling  years, 
Humanity  shall  tend  the  sod  with  tears, 

Till  from  its  greatness  grows 
That  tree  of  righteousness,  in  whose  broad  shade 

The  nations  shall  repose. 

By   JENNIE  E.  S 

ILfOURN  all  in  fair  Columbia's  land, 
-*"         Lament,  with  grief  complain, 
Our  President  so  dear  to  all, 

By  traitor's  hands  is  slain. 
How  much  we  loved  and  honored  him, 

We  only  now  discover, 
Both  North  and  South  have  lost  a  friend, 

Who  loved  them  as  a  brother. 

Oh !  with  what  joy  we  did  receive, 

The  news  of  Lee's  surrender; 
We  fired  guns,  and  banners  raised, 

To  tell  of  victory's  splendor. 
Alas!  we  did  not  know  that  grief 

Was  soon  to  mar  our  gladness, 
And  every  heart  that  throbbed  with  joy, 

Throbs  now  in  gloom  and  sadness. 

18  * 


210  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

These  sable  hangings  everywhere. 

Speak  of  the  inward  sorrow 
That  lies  within  each  loyal  heart; 

None  need  feel  grief  or  sorrow. 
We  ill  could  spare  our  hero  brave, 

In  such  a  time  of  trouble; 
We  ill  could  spare  him  any  time, 

Which  makes  our  sorrow  double. 

Oh !  cursed  be  he  whose  murderous  heart 

Was  by  black  treason  stirred, 
And  aimed  so  sure  that  fatal  shot; 

Would  God  that  it  had  erred. 
But  God,  whose  ways  mysterious  are, 

Removed  our  chosen  one; 
Then  let  the  nation,  while  it  mourns, 

Say  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done. 

Then  lay  our  patriot  down  to  rest; 

To  sleep  that  dreamless  slumber; 
And  may  his  spirit  mild  be  found 

Among  the  chosen  number. 
We'll  mourn  for  him,  our  martyred  one, 

Our  bells  toll  mournful  strains, 
And  e'en  the  clouds,  that  float  above, 

Drop  tears  in  gentle  rains. 

Rest,  LINCOLN,  rest,  thy  well-run  course 
With  honor  thou  hast  ended; 

None  ever  served  his  country  more, 
Or  more  her  rights  defended. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  211 

Rest,  hero  brave,  thy  noble  deeds 

Will  live  through  many  ages; 
Thine  honored  name  fill  many  a  place, 

In  coming  history's  pages. 


By    P.  G.   FAIRFIELD. 

curtains  of  the  midnight  darkly  fell 
O'er  that  fair  city  by  Potomac's  side; 
And  low  the  April  wind  with  ebb  and  swell 
Of  mournful  pinions  swept  the  classic  tide. 

While  erst  our  heroes  stood  in  serried  arms — 
Where  senate's  fathers  high  in  council  sate, 

So  late  the  scene  of  war  and  dread  alarms, 
Again  o'ershadowed  with  a  nation's  fate. 

Scarce  had  the  meek-eyed  dove  of  peace  and  hope 
Its  happy  pinions  over  fields  outspread, 

Where  gory-handed  war  in  vale  and  slope 
Impaled  the  victims  to  his  altar  led. 

And  scarce  her  golden  wings  had  new-born  love 
Spread  like  a  smile  of  God  upon  the  land 

Where  brother  against  brother  deadly  strove 
On  many  a  field  with  fratricidal  hand, 

When  the  assassin's  bullet  sought  the  brain 
Of  him  whose  arm  a  nation's  law  upheld ! 

The  blow  was  struck,  as  lightning  rives  in  twain 
The  forest-king  by  thunder-tempest  felled. 


212  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Columbia's  genius,  guardiain  of  the  land, 

Ah,  why  was  thy  protecting  aegis  furled  ? — 

Nor  interposed  to  turn  aside  the  hand 

Which  earned  the  execration  of  the  world ! 

Not  as  the  warrior  falls  on  gory  fields, 

With  glory  wrapped  about  him  ae  a  shroud ; 

Not  as  the  peaceful  man  his  spirit  yields, 
Or  he  whose  hoary  form  with  age  is  bowed, 

He  fell.     A  nation's  highest  magistrate, 

In  whose  high  oath  a  people's  mandate  spoke; 

By  rash  assassination  met  his  fate, 

Riven  as  lightning  rives  the  stately  oak. 

Then  let  the  nation  weep;  and  draped  in  weeds 
Be  trailed  that  banner  erst  in  war  unfurled, 

Which  borne  by  heroes  earned  immortal  meeds, 
And  won  the  plaudits  of  a  wondering  world ! 

Let  toil  lay  by  his  hammer;  not  a  sound 
Disturb  the  stillness  of  a  people's  grief, 

For  him  who  fell,  fell  by  the  coward's  wound, 
As  thieving  autumn  kills  the  summer  leaf. 

For  it  is  meet  we  pause  amid  this  show 

Of  pomp  and  triumph — pause  to  drop  a  tear 

O'er  him  who  fell,  the  patriot  laid  low 
In  death  upon  a  nation's  storied  bier. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  213 


By  J.   McL- 


"\7"ES  ;  he  is  coming  home ! 

O  prairie-land,  his  own  land  of  the  West! 
Open  thine  arms  and  fold  him  to  thy  breast. 
And  blossom  into  flowers  above  his  place  of  rest! 

Four  years  ago,  amid  the  stormy  night, 
Thou  gavest  him  to  be  our  chosen  guide; 
Now  that  the  winds  and  waves  in  peace  subside, 

And,  with  the  dawn,  the  eastern  sky  is  bright. 

He  comes !  he  comes !  his  life's  great  labor  done, 
Among  the  friends  and  scenes  he  loved  to  sleep! 
O  mourning  people,  wherefore  should  ye  weep  ? 

Is  not  his  fame  complete,  his  victory  won  ? 

Could  years  have  added  lustre  to  his  name, 
Who,  through  the  perils  of  the  darkest  hour. 
With  such  rare  wisdom  held  the  reins  of  power, 

Alike  unspoiled  by  praise,  unmoved  by  blame  ? 

Or  set  in  purer  light  the  blameless  life, 

The  heart  of  more  than  woman's  tenderness, 
So  ready  to  forgive,  so  quick  to  bless; 

So  bravely  gentle  'midst  the  fiercest  strife? 

His  faith,  firm  fixed  in  Him  who  rules  on  high, 
Sublimely  patient  through  the  storm  he  stood; 
Then  sealed  his  life's  devotion  with  his  blood, 

And  found  his  recompense  beyond  the  sky! 


214  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

0  mighty  West,  we  give  him  back  to  thee, 

Death-crowned  and  glorious!     On  his  quiet  brow. 
The  martyr's  coronet  is  gleaming  now, 

Could  we  but  check  those  blinding  tears  to  see. 

In  vain,  in  vain !     As  through  the  mourning  land, 
In  solemn  state  the  grand  procession  sweeps, 
We  only  feel  our  friend,  our  father  sleeps, 

And  we  have  lost  his  guiding  voice  and  hand. 

To  other  men  and  other  days  be  left 

The  task  to  weigh,  to  measure,  and  approve 
The  noble  heart  that  won  a  nation's  love, 

And,  passing,  leaves  us  orphaned  and  bereft. 

For  us — whose  tears  fall  like  the  summer  rain — 
Be  this  the  tribute  to  his  memory  given, 
To  keep  the  vow  we  register  in  heaven, 

"Our  martyred  dead  shall  not  Juive  died  in  vain." 


By    C.   P.  CRANCH. 

"DUT  yesterday — the  exulting  nation's  shout 

Swelled  on  the  breeze  of  victory  through  our  streets. 
But  yesterday — our  banners  flaunted  out 

Like  flowers  the  south  wind  woos  from  their  retreats : 
Flowers  of  the  nation,  blue,  and  white,  and  red, 

Waving  from  balcony,  and  spire,  and  mast; 
Which  told  us  that  war's  wintry  storm  had  fled, 

And  spring  was  more  than  spring  to  us  at  last. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  215 

To-day — the  nation's  heart  lies  crushed  and  weak; 

Drooping  and  draped  in  black  our  banners  stand. 
Too  stunned  to  cry  revenge,  we  scarce  may  speak 

The  grief  that  chokes  all  utterance  through  the  laud. 
God  is  in  all.     With  tears  our  eyes  are  dim, 
Yet  strive  through  darkness  to  look  to  Him  I 

No,  not  in  vain  he  died — not  all  in  vain, 

Our  good,  great  President!     This  people's  hands 
Are  linked  together  in  one  mighty  chain 

Drawn  tighter  still  in  triple-woven  bands 
To  crush  the  fiends  in  human  masks,  whose  might 

We  suffer,  oh  too  long !     No  league,  nor  truce 
Save  men  with  men!     The  devils  we  must  fight 

With  fire !     God  wills  it  in  this  deed.     This  use 
We  draw  from  the  most  impious  murder  done 

Since  Calvary.     Rise  then,  0  countrymen ! 
Scatter  these  marsh-light  hopes  of  Union  won 

Through  pardoning  clemency.     Strike,  strike  again ! 
Draw  closer  round  the  foe  a  girdling  flame. 
We   are   stabbed   whene'er   we   spare — strike   in  God'a 
name! 

By  Mrs.  C.   M.   STEBBINS. 

Tj  ARK,  'tis  a  wail  of  sadness! 
•*-*•  That  stirs  the  loyal  soul; 
The  bells  that  ring  with  gladness, 
Send  forth  a  solemn  toll. 

The  nation's  chief  has  fallen — 
Struck  by  a  traitor's  hand — 


216  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

The  stars  and  stripes  upholding, 
The  noblest  of  the  land. 

Upon  his  country's  altar 

He  laid  the  sacrifice ; 
A  life  so  pure  and  holy 

Hath  earned  a  heavenly  prize. 

Our  bleeding  country's  laurels 
He  snatched  from  lawless  hand, 

That  shall  in  future  story 
A  nation's  beacon  stand. 

Slain  on  proud  freedom's  altar, 
To  set  the  bondman  free, 

And  bring  to  Afric's  daughters, 
The  year  of  jubilee. 

A  nation's  heart  enshrines  thee, 
Best  and  noblest  of  our  race, 

And  white-robed  throngs  in  heaven 
Wait  to  welcome  and  embrace. 


ANONYMOUS. 

TTTHENCE  comes  that  thrilling  undertone  of  woe, 
*  *     That  wail  of  sorrow,  heard  from  high  and  low  ? 
Why  do  strong  men  stand  trembling  with  affright, 
As  though  some  awful  darkness  ruled  the  night? 
Oh!  why  do  parted  lips  refuse  to  speak, 
While  the  pale  face  and  boding  gestures  break 
Tidings  of  evil  to  the  startled  eye  ? 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  217 

At  length — 0  heart,  grow  still ! — we  hear  the  cry, 

"  He  whom  we  trusted  for  our  nation's  guide, 

Is  basely  murdered  in  his  manhood's  pride  !" 

While  yet  glad  shouts  of  vict'ry  fill  the  air, 

And  our  worn  hearts  still  breathe  the  grateful  prayer 

Of  deep  thanksgiving  for  such  blessings  sent 

In  quick  succession,  till  the  tidings  blent 

In  one  full  chorus  of  o'erwhelming  joy. 

Men  crowd  to  hear :  moved  by  one  impulse  now. 

Before  their  Maker  rev'rently  they  bow, 

And  give  to  Him  the  homage  of  their  praise, 

And  seek  His  guidance  through  the  future  days. 

How  gentle  peace  diffused  her  healing  art, 

And  breathed  forgiveness  in  each  melted  heart! 

Our  recent  foes  were  brethren;  we  would  show 

Compassion  for  their  self-inflicted  woe, 

Would  be  the  first  our  confidence  to  prove, 

In  their  returning  wisdom,  if  not  love. 

How  could  we  then  in  this  triumphant  hour, 
Dream  that  conspiracy,  in  lurking  power, 
Was  seeking  to  destroy  our  nation's  life, 
And  rouse  again  a  fiercer,  deadlier  strife? 
How  could  we  think  that  pale-faced  murder  stood 
Ready  to  strike  the  tried,  the  wise,  the  good, — 
All  whose  firm  hands  in  this  eventful  hour 
Could  guide  our  counsels  by  their  well-known  power  ? 
These  names  struck  from  the  roll  of  living  men, 
The  dark-eyed  plotters  deemed  that  once  again 
War  and  misrule  might  triumph  on  our  soil, 
And  make  a  mock'ry  of  our  foregone  toil. 
19  K 


218  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

But  ah!  God  rules  above.     He  knows  full  well 
Each  brooding  counsel  and  each  purpose  fell. 
The  many  shall  not  fall,  but  why,  oh  why 
Must  our  loved  chief  a  martyred  victim  lie, 
With  the  calm  smile  of  rest  upon  his  brow, 
Unconscious  of  the  crowds,  who,  weeping,  bow 
In  swelling  anguish  o'er  the  well-known  face, 
As  though  its  features  they  would  sadly  trace 
Upon  their  inmost  souls  ?     Unconscious,  too, 
How,  when  swift-winged  the  evil  tidings  flew, 
But  one  deep  wail  broke  from  the  nation's  heart, 
In  which  even  prattling  infancy  took  part, 
And  in  its  tiny  badges  of  distress, 
Sought  earnestly  its  sorrow  to  confess; 
From  every  home,  sad  draperies  of  woe 
Reveal  the  grief  the  suffering  inmates  know; 
In  every  church  through  all  the  weeping  land, 
What  crowds  of  mourners  at  God's  altar  stand, 
And  'neath  the  sable  emblems  of  our  grief, 
Pay  a  last  tribute  to  our  fallen  chief? 
When  'mid  the  nations  was  it  known  before, 
That  one  sad  funeral  reached  from  shore  to  shore? 

For  days  the  pulse  of  commerce  faintly  beats, 
While  saddened  footsteps  echo  through  our  streets. 
'Tis  not  alone  that  one  so  good  and  brave 
Is  thus,  untimely,  hurried  to  the  grave. 
'Tis  not  alone  that  he,  the  people's  choice, 
And  called  to  office  by  the  people's  voice, 
Should  be  removed  by  Heaven's  all-wise  decree, 
Just  when  his  heart  was  cheered  by  victory. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  219 

It  is  that  crime  should  riot  in  the  land; 
That  we  in  trembling  impotence  should  stand 
In  the  assassin's  power;  that  our  proud  name 
Must  thus  he  linked  with  infamy  and  shame ; 
That  we,  who  boast  obedience  to  the  laws, 
Should  know  such  traitors  to  the  common  cause. 
It  is  that  we,  who  fondly  hoped  to  trust, 
Have  in  these  deep-laid  plottings  learned  distrust 
Of  once-named,  once-loved  brothers.     0 !  our  God, 
Whose  only  Son  these  paths  of  suff'ring  trod, 
Who  knows  our  every  thought,  feels  every  woe, 
Oh !  look  in  mercy  on  Thy  people  now, 
And  hold  our  hearts  from  sin !     Oh,  let  the  right 
O'er  all  our  land  prevail !     Let  men  serve  Thee, 
And  in  that  service  learn  true  liberty! 

Father !  what  Thou  wouldst  teach  we  fain  would  learn ; 

Unto  Thy  throne  with  humbled  hearts  we  turn. 

Oh !  guide  us,  Father,  in  Thine  own  wise  way ! 

Let  not  our  footsteps  from  Thy  precepts  stray! 

A  child  among  the  nations,  let  us  prove 

Thine,  Father,  in  obedience  and  love. 

Oh !   bind  us  once  again  in  strength  and  power. 

United  still  in  dark  misfortune's  hour; 

United  when  prosperity  shall  shine 

On  happy  homes,  poured  by  Thy  hand  divine ! 

Thy  blessing  on  our  land  we  humbly  seek ! 

The  burden  of  our  souls  we  cannot  speak ! 

But  Thou,  who  seest  each  inborn  thought  arise, 

Oh,  answer  from  Thy  dwelling  in  the  skies ! 


220 


Hist'ry  repeats  how  nations  prouder  far 
Than  we,  and  proudly  versed  in  arts  of  war, 
Have  lost  the  glory  of  their  ancient  name, 
And  hold  no  semblance  of  their  former  fame. 
They  too  forgot  Thee,  or  they  knew  Thee  not, 
And  Thou  by  us,  alas,  hast  been  forgot. 
Oh!  lead  us  then  in  penitence  to  bow, 
And  render  Thee  our  fervent  worship  now. 
Inspire  our  nation's  counsels.     Let  them  prove 
A  bond  of  union  and  a  tie  of  love; 
And  thus  dependent  on  Thy  holy  will, 
Oh  let  us  seek  Christ's  mission  to  fulfill, — 
Carry  the  light  of  truth  from  clime  to  clime, 
Till  every  nation  own  Thy  power  divine, 
And  in  the  tribute  of  their  praises  bring 
Glory  to  Grod,  their  Saviour  and  their  King! 


By  ANGELINE  R.  DEMBY. 

TT7E  mourn,  to  learn  that  we  are  struck 

With  such  appalling  wo; 
We  bow  beneath  the  mighty  stroke; 
Twas  Grod  who  willed  it  so. 

A  martyr  to  sweet  freedom's  laws, 

A  patriot  true  and  brave, 
With  noble  brow  and  form  erect, 

Is  stricken  to  the  grave. 

The  grave  shall  not  environ  him; 
His  spirit  is  with  G-od; 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  221 

It  took  its  flight  at  early  morn, 
When  Jesus  spoke  the  word. 

"  Come  unto  me,  beloved  son, 

You  filled  your  place  of  trust; 
I  call  you  hence,  come  unto  me ; 
I'll  raise  you  from  the  dust." 

The  nation  mourns  a  patriot  slain ! 

Lord,  heal  the  broken  heart. 
We  cannot  bear  this  stunning  pain, 

Unless  Thou  heal  the  smart. 

Thy  balm  apply  to  bleeding  hearts; 

Our  comfort  Thou  shalt  be. 
It  was  Thy  will  that  we  should  part 

With  him  who  made  us  free. 

In  bondage  dark,  oppressed  with  shame, 

We  long  were  made  to  stand, 
Till  Abraham  Lincoln  did  proclaim 

Freedom  throughout  the  land. 

God  bless  the  true  republican ! 

His  name  shall  ever  live, 
Till  God  shall  unto  every  man 

Perpetual  freedom  give. 

Though  we  still  weep,  we  will  not  stand, 

With  folded  hands  and  mourn — 
But,  with  all  friends  of  Abraham, 

We'll  trample  treason  down. 
19  * 


222  POETICAL    TRIBUTES  TO    THE 


TO  MRS.   LINCOLN. 

By  MARY    A.   DENNISON. 

TF  it  be  any  joy  to  know 
•*•   That  a  whole  nation  mourns  thy  woe; 
That  clasped  hands  and  bowed  down  head 
Bear  witness  for  the  mighty  dead; 
That  he  was  loved  as  ne'er  before 
A  chief  in  peace  or  chief  in  war; 
Take  this  one  drop  of  balm — and  less 
By  that  thy  draught  of  bitterness! 

If  it  be  any  joy  to  feel 
That  thine  is  now  the  nation's  weal; 
That  every  home  would  gladly  be 
A  shelter,  and  a  shrine  for  thee; 
That  every  heart  throbs  high  to  make 
Some  sacrifice  for  his  dear  sake : 
Take  this  one  thought  of  comfort, — less 
May  be  thy  draught  of  bitterness. 

If  it  be  any  joy  to  see 
One  glimpse  of  thy  high  destiny, 
As  she  who  wore  a  martyr's  love — 
And  wears  an  angel's  now,  above — 
As  she  who  felt  the  throbs  that  swelled 
That  heart,  by  hearts  of  millions  knelled  : 
Take  this  sweet  sympathy — and  less 
By  that  thy  draught  of  bitterness ! 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  223 

Oh!  wife  of  our  dear  patriot — see — 
Our  land  sheds  tear  for  tear  with  thee; 
Yet,  widow  of  the  nation!  God 
Speaks  to  thee,  through  the  broken  sod; 
"I  am  thy  God —  thou  yet  shall  see 
It  was  not  death,  but  victory ! 
And  even  now  my  love  shall  bless 
And  drain  thy  cup  of  bitterness." 


By    MARY    E.    HART. 

TTTATCHED  ye  the  dawn  of  the  still  Sabbath  morn- 
"  ing? 

Saw  ye  the  sunbeams  creep  over  the  hills? 
Valleys  and  meadows  and  mountains  adorning, 
Waking  to  beauty  each  streamlet  and  rill? 

Felt  ye  the  hush  that  attended  its  coming? 

Marked  ye  the  stillness  from  hillside  to  shore  ? 
Still,  through  the  silence  the  cannon's  deep  booming 

Broke  on  the  ear  with  its  heavy,  deep  roar. 

While  yet  its  echoes  were  ling'ring  and  dying, 

Heard  ye,  as  through  the  still  morning  they  rolled, 

Speaking  to  voices  from  hill-tops  replying, 
Sounds  of  the  bells  which  so  heavily  tolled. 

Booming  and  tolling  in  mournful  succession, 
Heard  ye  their  music  with  awe  and  surprise? 


224  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Watched  ye  the  star-spangled  banner  uprisen, 
Swinging  half-masted  in  black  draperies  ? 

Caught  ye  their  language,  this  still  Sabbath  morning, 
Know  ye  the  story  they  fluttered  and  told? 

Spoke  they  of  victory's  glorious  dawning, 
Followed  by  death  damps  terrific  and  cold  ? 

Linked  and  united  in  booming  and  tolling, 
Mingled  and  twining  in  banners  and  crape — 

This  was  the  speech  that  was  flapping  and  rolling, 
"  Lincoln  lies  dead — let  a  mourning  land  weep." 

Heavily  fell  the  first  news  of  his  death-blow, 
Mutely  we  looked  at  each  other  in  grief — 

Speechless  we  bowed  'neath  this  terrible  sorrow, 
Then  rent  the  heavens  with  a  cry  for  relief. 

Spoke  we,  "God  help  us,  what  shall  we  be  doing," 
Prayers  burst  from  lips  that  before  had  not  prayed, 

Eyes  which  to  tears  were  a  stranger  were  flowing. 
The  people  all  mourn,  for  Lincoln  was  dead. 

Who  can  save  us,  but  He  who  from  heaven 

Looked  on  the  murderer,  and  gave  him  His  will  ? 

Which  of  us  all  shall  tell  why  He  has  given 
Power  to  a  foeman  to  work  us  this  ill? 

Short-sighted  all,  we  can  trace  but  His  working, 
As  the  days  bring  us  the  tidings  they  bear; 

Bowing  with  reverence  when  tempests  are  breaking, 
Waiting  in  patience  till  clouds  disappear. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  225 

Then  we  shall  know  all  the  meanings  of  sorrow, 
Filling  the  air  on  this  fair  Sabbath  day; 

Trust  we  the  while,  in  the  hope  that  the  morrow 
Find  us  with  darkness  and  doubt  cleared  away. 


•  •„  :• 


By    B.  S.   PARKER. 

H^HE  voice  is  hushed,  the  heart  is  still, 

The  lids  inclose  the  earnest  eyes, 
That  only  wake  for  Zion's  hill, 
And  only  beam  for  Paradise. 

We  kindle  brightly  to  thy  praise, 
We  melt  in  sorrow  at  thy  bier, 

And  wonder  in  the  boundless  days, 
When  God  shall  every  truth  insphere, 

In  sinless  orbits  of  delight 

What  crowns  thy  spirit  brow  shall  wear, 
When  part  the  terror  and  the  night, 

Thou  soarest  into  morning  there. 

Ob  choral  lips  of  love  and  song; 

The  world's  harmonic  multitude — 
That  through  the  ages  dim  and  long, 

Have  prophesied  the  coming  good. 

Philosopher  and  saint  and  seer 
Of  every  age  and  race  and  clime, 

Behold  the  promised  days  are  near, 
Auroral  on  the  hills  of  time ! 
K* 


226  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

We  read  the  blessed  morrow's  sign 
That  conies  to  hallow  every  place, 

In  every  feature,  every  line 

Of  that  upturned  and  calmest  face. 

From  this  dear  sacrifice  we  learn 

The  future's  full  reality, 
How  freedom's  flame  shall  mount  and  burn 

Above  the  tomb  of  slavery. 

How  age  on  age  shall  pile  its  weight, 
Yet  through  the  twilight  dim  and  far, 

Among  the  wise  and  good  and  great, 
Shall  Lincoln  shine  a  morning  star. 

The  useless  lash,  the  broken  chain, 

Black  swarms  of  traffic  turned  to  men, 

War  fruiting  with  eternal  gain, 
That  ripens  into  peace  again. 

These  glorify  the  places  where 

Thy  paths  have  been,  0  true  and  brave ! 
And  melodize  the  western  air, 

To  sing  of  rest  above  thy  grave. 

Rest,  patriot-martyr,  saviour,  friend, 
Defender  of  the  poor  and  weak ! 

Thy  glory  shall  not  have  an  end 
While  history  has  a  voice  to  speak. 

In  deathless  harmonies  of  song, 
In  Alpine  heights  of  eloquence, 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  227 

Where  hearts  are  tender,  love  is  strong, 
Shall  live  thy  sweet  beneficence, 

And  breathe  its  blessings  evermore 

Through  all  the  scope  of  coming  years, 

While  thou  on  freedom's  wings  shall  soar 
In  love's  celestial  atmospheres 

In  love's  celestial  atmospheres 

That  musical  shall  ever  be 
With  this — that  charms  immortal  ears — 
"  Through  Christ  the  Lord,  he  made  men  free: ' 


By   E.  J.   W- 


riX)LL  the  bells  throughout  the  country 
•*•      With  a  solemn,  tender  peal; 
Bow  each  head  with  bitter  sorrow, 
Round  the  altar  lowly  kneel. 

Toll  the  bells  :  they'll  not  awake  him 
From  his  slumber  calm  and  deep; 

Toll  the  bells  throughout  the  country 
As  our  mighty  nation  weeps: 

Weeps  for  him,  the  friend  of  freedom, 
He  who  made  the  bondman  free; — 

Long  as  earth  endures,  shall  glory 
Shine  o'er  his  blest  memory. 

Raise  each  heart  and  voice  to  Heaven, 
Remorse  upon  the  murd'rer  prey ! 


228  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

While  the  nation  weeps  in  anguish 
Him  who  lies  so  still  to-day. 

Toll  the  hells; — his  form  was  noble, — 

Never  shall  we  see  it  more; 
Weep,  lament  for  him  passed  from  us 

Out  upon  the  shining  shore. 

Full  of  health  and  strength  when  ushered 

Into  life  beyond  the  stream 
That  is  swelling  all  around  us, 

Ere  we  catch  a  distant  gleam. 

Little  did  we  think  a  Judas, 

Foul  Iscariot  was  near, 
And  that  when  our  hearts  were  joyful, 

Close  by  joy  there  stood  a  bier. 

From  Thy  throne  in  heaven,  0  Father, 
Hear  us  as  we  humbly  pray, 

That  Thou'lt  raise  us  up  another 
Like  the  one  just  passed  away. 

Wilt  Thou  not  in  vengeance  visit 

The  foul  Judas  with  Thy  wrath  ? 
Evermore  let  sorrow  bind  him, 
•  Never  more  joy  cross  his  path. 

Toll  the  bells  for  him  who  lieth 
Still  and  cold  in  death's  embrace; 

Weep,  lament  for  him  passed  from  us, 
Is  there  one  to  take  his  place? 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  229 

Toll  the  bells  with  solemn  pealing, 
Through  our  loved  and  native  land, 

And  as  through  the  air  they  echo, 
May  we  all  united  stand. 


ANONYMOUS. 

C\  RE  AT  men  will  speak  and  write  thy  praise, 

Through  untold  ages  yet  to  come. 
The  good  in  every  land  will  raise 

The  voice  of  mourning  o'er  thy  doom. 

For  thee  a  nation  mourns  to-day : 

The  sounds  of  mirth  and  joy  are  still. 

A  traitor's  blow  has  dealt  dismay, 
And  caused  a  nation's  blood  to  chill. 

Thine  with  Washington's  great  name 
"On  history's  storied  page  will  shine," 

Of  martyrs  with  undying  fame 
In  ages  past,  the  brightest  thine. 

Of  thine — no  glaring  fault  or  deed 

Has  tinged  the  country's  cheek  with  shame ; 
(rod  sent  thee  in  her  time  of  need, 

To  rule  with  high  and  holy  aim. 

We  tremble  for  our  country's  fate, 
With  thy  controlling  wisdom  gone. 

No  guides-man  of  our  "  Ship  of  State," 
Than  thee,  has  richer  laurels  won. 

20 


230  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  JOSEPHINE    WHITE. 

/"COLUMBIA  mourns  in  bitterest  woe, 

Above  a  martyr's  blood-stained  bier; 
Grief's  sable  garb  enshrouds  her  now, 

She  sees  her  children  bathed  in  tears. 
Go !  look !  o'er  all  her  wide  domains, 

Her  mountains,  plains,  and  villages  fair, 
Where,  late  ten  thousand  banners  waved, 

While  shouts  of  victory  rent  the  air. 

Ay  look !  and  see,  no  banners  now, 

Forth  on  the  breeze  in  triumph  flow. 
But  sadly  droop,  their  bright  folds  draped 

With  emblems  of  a  nation's  woe; 
And  victory  weeping,  points  where  flow 

Our  martyred  hero's  precious  blood, 
While  peace,  her  white  wings  stained  with  gore, 

Lies  prostrate  by  the  crimson  flood. 

Well  may  we  weep :  our  brightest  star 

Is  gone !  its  lustre  quenched  in  woe, 
We  mourn  our  martyred  Lincoln  now, 

By  coward  hands  in  death  laid  low; 
Ay!  murderous  hands  have  done  the  deed. 

That  even  fiends  would  blush  to  name, 
A  deed  which  thrills  the  heart  with  dread, 

And  fills  the  meanest  soul  with  shame. 

Ah !  let  our  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
And  let  us  mourn  our  noble  dead. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  231 

Drape  all  our  land  in  weeds  of  woe, 
Our  Lincoln's  mighty  soul  has  fled; 

His  hand  gave  freedom !  blessed  boon, 
He  laid  the  power  of  tyrants  low, 

He  forged  no  chain  to  bind  the  weak, 
He  triumphed  o'er  no  conquered  foe. 

Lincoln  has  fallen  !  yet  he  lives, 

Enshrined  within  each  noble  soul ! 
His  name !  Columbia's  pride  shall  be, 

As  countless  ages  o'er  her  roll; 
It  need  not  be  with  matchless  skill, 

Carved  on  the  towering  marble  fair, 
Go  look  upon  each  patriot's  heart, 

Behold!  'tis  deeply  graven  there. 

And  though  we  mourn  we  say  with  pride, 

He  gave  his  life  in  freedom's  cause, 
His  precious  blood  was  barely  shed, 

Defending  our  most  sacred  laws; 
And  not  while  blessed  freedom  lives, 

Be  peace  or  war  our  country's  lot, 
While  we  can  claim  this  land  our  own, 

Be  Lincoln's  name  or  deed  forgot. 


By  BELLE  F- 


T)UT  later  from  town  and  village 

A  joyous  paean  rose, 

And  many  a  voice  caught  up  the  strain, 
"  We're  vanquishing  our  foes !" 


232  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

A  key-note  'twas  of  Liberty, 

Of  Freedom  near  at  hand, 
And  every  patriot  heart  was  thrilled 

Throughout  our  storm-tossed  land. 

Then  glad  hearts  flung  our  banner  out 

To  float  upon  the  breeze; 
And  brighter  seemed  each  star  and  stripe, 

Waving  o'er  land  and  seas. 

The  olive  branch  began  to  twine 

Around  the  deadly  spear, 
And  Hope  sang  out  in  bugle  notes 
"  Redemption  draweth  near  !" 

Alas,  alas,  for  human  hopes! 

A  breath — a  word — a  blow — 
And  hearts  but  yesterday  elate, 

To-day  are  plunged  in  woe. 

A  nation's  songs  to  dirges  turn ; 

Our  banners  sables  wear; 
And  every  loyal  heart  is  touched, 

For  all  the  sorrows  share. 

All,  all,  who  love  the  truth  and  right, 

Who  love  humanity, 
Who  ever  mourn  when  good  men  die, 

Must  mourn  for  such  as  he. 

We  need  not  name  the  man,  whose  deeds 
Each  loyal  heart  has  thrilled; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  233 

And  none  but  traitors  fail  to  mourn 
A  heart  so  noble,  stilled. 

0  God!  'tis  hard  to  feel   Thy  hand 

Hath  dealt  this  heavy  blow; 
Yet  Thou  art  at  the  helm,  and  safe 

Our  bark  will  onward  go. 

Thou'st  led  our  ship  through  many  a  storm, 

Through  many  a  bloody  sea; 
It  strikes  a  rock  to-day,  0  God ! 

And  none  can  help,  save  Thee. 


By  SHIRLEY. 

fPHE  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 
•*•      Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things; 
There  is  no  armor  against  fate; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings; 

Sceptre  and  crown 

Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reach  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  length  must  yield 
They  fame  but  one  another  still ! 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
20 


234  POETICAL    TRIBUTES  TO    THE 

And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath, 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow — 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar,  now, 
See  where  the  victor  victim  bleeds. 
All  hands  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb — 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 


By  MARY  ROBBINS. 

A  BRAHAM  LINCOLN !  here  we  stand, 
•~-     North  and  South  and  East  and  West, 
Round  thy  coffin,  hand  in  hand; 
Hear  us  from  thy  place  of  rest ! 

Abraham  Lincoln,  freedom's  martyr, 
Here  we  swear  we  will  not  falter 
In  the  cause  thou  lovedst  best. 

By  the  graves  at  Gettysburg 

Thou  thyself  didst  consecrate 
Unto  Jesus;  now  the  land 

Mourns  thine  own  untimely  fate. 

Abraham  Lincoln,  Christian  martyr, 
By  thy  grave  as  by  an  altar, 
We  ourselves  do  consecrate. 


MEMORY   OF  ABKAHAM  LINCOLN.  235 

To  a  firmer  trust  in  God, 

To  a  kindlier  faith  in  man ; 
Sharing  even  the  heaviest  load 
If  we  may  help  save  our  land. 

Abraham  Lincoln,  patriot,  martyr, 
Thou  didst  never  faint  nor  falter; 
May  we  worthy  of  thee  stand ! 

Praying,  fighting  for  the  right, 

Till  foul  treason's  bloody  hand 
Fades  away  in  endless  night 

From  our  glad  enfranchised  land. 
Oh,  our  great  Emancipator ! 
Thanks  of  true  men,  curse  of  traitor, 
Cannot  reach  where  thou  dost  stand. 

Weeping  o'er  thy  grave  we  bend, 

Freedmen,  freemen,  one  in  grief; 
Even  the  South  has  lost  a  friend, 
And  the  traitor's  joy  is  brief: 

For  we  swear,  oh  murdered  martyr ! 
We'll  to  treason  give  no  quarter, 
As  we  rally  round  our  chief. 


By  E.  V.  R- 


TT7ITH  earnest  heart,  unshrinkingly  upholding 

The  awful  cause  God  raised  him  to  protect; 
With  patient  heart,  the  mighty  scheme  unfolding, 
Looking  to  Him  to  counsel  and  direct. 


236  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Steadfast  and  calm,  through  hopes  deferred,  defeated; 

Saddened  by  many  cares,  oppressed  by  none; 
Thank  God!  he  lived  to  see  that  work  completed, 

Then  passed  away  from  earth — his  work  was  done. 

Done !     Not  so  it  seemeth  to  our  darkened  vision ; 

Still  do  the  shadows  veil  the  dawning  light; 
But  hope  like  his  failed  never  of  fruition, 

Since  God  is  on  the  throne,  and  judgeth  right. 

Pure,  humble  heart,  unstained  by  selfish  quarrel, 

Amid  the  strife  of  party  ever  calm, 
He  gladly  twined  our  heroes'  brows  with  laurel, 

Then  bowed  his  own  to  wear  the  martyr's  palm. 

Kind,  tender  heart,  through  all  its  pulses  thrilling 
With  pity  for  a  captive  brother's  woe; 

No  rest  for  him,  while  steadfastly  fulfilling 
God's  solemn  mandate,  "  Let  my  people  go." 

No  rest  for  him,  who  felt  each  slave's  oppression, 
Who  knew  their  blood  for  blood  must  loudly  call; 

No  rest  till  he  effaced  the  foul  transgression; 
Then  gave  his  own,  the  dearest  blood  of  all. 

And  now,  around  his  bier  a  weeping  nation 
Their  ardent  love  and  gratitude  express : 

Not  with  a  mournful  dirge  of  lamentation, 
But  with  a  solemn,  thrilling  tenderness. 

His  was  the  courage  and  the  strength  that  bore  them 
Through  the  lone  wilderness  and  sea  of  blood : 


MEMOltY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  237 

Who,  when  the  promised  land  stretched  fair  before  them, 
Upon  the  towering  summit  meekly  stood; 

Saw  them,  ere  long,  that  peaceful  land  possessing, 
Above  all  nations  prosperous  and  blest, — 

Then,  lifting  up  his  voice  in  solemn  blessing, 
He  passed  unto  his  everlasting  rest. 

And  on  each  heart  his  words  of  benediction, 
With  sad,  prophetic  meaning,  now  must  fall : 

"  Patience  and  faith  in  every  dark  affliction ; 
Malice  to  none,  but  charity  to  all." 

Mourn  then,  but  not  for  him — he  died  victorious; 

A  memory  more  cherished  none  could  crave; 
Grod  took  his  spirit  to  a  rest  most  glorious, 

We  lay  his  body  in  an  honored  grave. 


By    S.  J.   D- 


E  crowning  act  of  treason's  done, 
America  now  mourns  her  son;  — 
Her  noblest  and  her  best. 


Struck  by  the  assassin's  dastard  hand, 
Who  would  have  thought  our  favor'd  land 
Would  shelter  such  a  fiend? 

Each  heart  is  filled  with  gloom  and  woe, 
And  bitter  tears  our  eyes  o'erflow, 

For  one  so  loved  and  dear. 


238  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Forever  hushed  that  kindly  voice, 
Whose  virtues  made  him  twice  the  choice 
Of  every  loyal  heart. 

Ay,  drape  the  flag,  and  drape  each  home, 
Another  heart  may  never  come 

So  purely  true  as  his. 

The  olive  branch  was  budding  fast, 
But  now  the  day  of  peace  is  past, 

The  nursing  hand  is  gone. 

The  country  bleeds  at  every  pore, 

For  him  who'll  guide  our  ship  no  more 

Through  angry  storm  and  rain. 

A  nation's  heart  is  bowed  in  grief, 
Her  outraged  feelings  find  relief 
Alone  in  justice  done. 

Mercy  will  fold  her  wing  and  flee. 
Avenging  justice  now  will  be, 

Our  watchword  and  our  song. 

We  knew  that  thou  wert  always  dear, 
And  memory '11  keep  thee  very  near 
Unto  our  loving  hearts. 

But,  oh !  we  knew  not  love  so  strong, 
Could  to  the  human  heart  belong, 

As  that  which  weeps  for  thee ! 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  239 

Within  thy  cold  and  narrow  hed, 
Thy  sleep  is  sweet.     Thou  art  not  dead, 
Thy  voice  shall  still  be  heard. 

Children  will  bless  thee  in  their  prayer; 
Thy  mem'ry  '11  linger  on  the  air. 
For  ages  yet  to  come. 

Fearless  of  death,  thou  didst  not  dreani, 
A  soul  was  born  that  had  no  gleam 
Of  human  feeling  left. 

But  thou  art  gone,  and  we  are  left, 
Of  thy  kind,  tender  care  bereft, 

Our  mighty  loss  to  feel. 

We  see  thy  form  all  stiff  and  cold, 
Now  ready  for  the  earth  and  mould, 

But  thou  art  with  thy  God. 

Thy  days  of  weariness  are  o'er, 
Thy  feet  we  trust  now  tread  the  shore 
Of  that  eternal  life, 

Where  wars  ne'er  come  or  jarring  strife, 
To  mar  the  sweetness  of  thy  life, 
That  ends  no  more. 


240  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    CARRIE. 

T  ET  him  rest,  his  work  is  o'er, 
-^  Nor  from  the  celestial  shore 
Recall  ye  him. 
In  death  he  sleeps! 

Toll,  0  bell, 

A  solemn  knell — 
A  nation  weeps. 

Hark  !  even  now  a  nation's  moan, 
Rising  still  with  anguished  tone, 
Comes  on  the  breeze. 
Let  the  tears  flow ! 

Toll,  0  bell, 

A  solemn  knell, 
He  lieth  low. 

Stricken  by  a  traitor  hand, 
Let  it  bear  the  deepest  brand 
Of  infamy. 
Still !  heart  be  still ! 

Cannon,  boom ! 

Sound  treason's  doom 
From  vale  and  hill. 

Close  the  eyes  whose  light  has  fled, 
Bear  him  now  with  muffled  tread 
To  his  last  rest. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  241 

Bow  low  the  head ! 

Shine  out  ye  stars — 

Droop  down  ye  ba™ 
O'er  our  loved  dead. 

Cease  to  fall,  0  bitter  tears; 
Through  the  veil  of  future  years 
See  his  uprising. 
Cover  all  hate ! 

So  bells  toll— 

Ye  drums  roll — 
In  patience  wait. 

For  when  by  the  martyr  grave, 
Awaits  "  He  who  died  to  save," 
His  voice  shall  call. 
Stifle  each  step ! 

0  bells,  cease — 

Rest  in  peace — 
He  lives  on  high. 

Sacred  ever  to  his  name — 
Graven  on  the  scroll  of  fame 
For  all  time. 
Shrined  in  our  love ! 

Nor  bell  toll— 

For  his  soul 
Reigneth  above. 
21  L 


242  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 


GONE. 

ANONYMOUS. 

A  H,  no  more,  like  ancient  Israel, 
•*-*•     Shall  a  loving  nation  say, 
"We  have  Abraham  for  our  father," 
Lord,  be  with  us  in  this  day ! 

(rone  the  hand  that  would  have  moulded 
All  the  fragments  in  accord, 

And  from  shattered  blocks  rebuilded 
The  temple  of  our  Lord ! 

Under  this  vast  sorrow's  shadow 
All  our  glory  seems  but  dross, 

As  we  gaze  at  one  another 
With  an  awful  sense  of  loss. 

When  creation  in  perfection 

Lay  before  its  Maker's  gaze, 
He  but  called  it  "good,"  as  holding 

That  the  highest,  truest  praise. 

Thus  from  faltering  lips  and  voices 
Our  sad  cry  goes  up  this  day, 

Not,  "  how  are  the  mighty  fallen," 
But — "the  good  has  passed  away." 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  243 


By    BEN.  J.   RADFORD. 

TTE  loosed  the  captive's  bands,  and  millions  from 

The  dust  sprang  up  and  saw  the  light;  he  called. 
And  answering  to  that  call  the  sahle  forms 
Filled  up  the  ranks  of  war  to  do  and  die 
For  Liberty,  scarce  tasted,  but  so  sweet. 
And  then,  for  lack  of  wisdom,  sons  of  men 
Cried  out  with  fear   and  trembling : 
"  Abraham  Lincoln !  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  '  poor,  blind  Samson '  shall  march  to  the  fray  ! 
You  preside  in  the  temple,  on  Liberty's  throne — 
Oh !  let  not  the  slave  touch  its  pillars  of  stone ; 
And  if  you  would  free  the  blind  wretch  from  his  chain 
Oh !  send  him  away  to  his  kindred  again ; 
But  bring  him  not  here  in  his  terrible  might 
Where  our  idols  are  placed  and  our  altars  burn  bright. 
You  would  bring  him,  unshorn,  from  the  dungeon  and 

grate, 

To  serve  in  the  temple  where  myriads  wait, 
And,  freed  by  his  blindness,  from  prudent  alarms, 
Its  pillars  resign  to  his  sinewy  arms. 
'Tis  the  story  of  old :  the  iconoclast  bends 
In  his  might,  and  the  wail  of  the  dying  ascends — 
The  ruins  have  equalled  the  ruler  and  slave — 
The  worshipped  and  worshipper  sleep  in  one  grave. 
Abraham  Lincoln !  'tis  time  to  forbear, 
In  the  name  of  the  goddess  we  pray  you  beware; 
For  the  nations  are  gathering  the  temple  about 
To  see  this  blind  Samson,  and  join  in  the  shout 


244  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

When  the  fall  shall  destroy  the  altar  and  hearth, 
Leaving  bondage  to  millions  and  darkness  to  earth; 
If  the  vile  hands  of  traitors  our  altars  profane 
We  pledge  you  our  heart's  blood  to  wipe  out  the  stain 
And  if  they  have  trampled  our  forefathers'  graves, 
(rive  not  the  sweet  morsel  of  vengeance  to  slaves. 
We  will  serve  in  the  temple  and  bow  at  the  throne, 
But  let  not  the  slave  touch  the  pillars  of  stone." 

But  he  in  patience  still  possessed  his  soul, 

And  waited  for  the  proof,  and  even  as 

The  people  said,  the  poor  blind  Samson  pulled  the 

Temple  down,  and  crushed  beneath  "  the  choice 

Nobility  and  flower,"  irnmingled  with 

The  gods  and  altars  they  had  reared;  but  lo, 

Our  temple  stands — they  were  the  Philistines. 

Within  that  other  temple,  still  enthroned, 

The  goddess  sits,  but  weeping  now,  and  clad 

In  the  habiliments  of  woe  for  him, 

Her  martyred  son,  who  first  gave  freedom  to 

The  slave,  then  gave  him  war  to  teach  him  what 

It  cost,  and  something  of  its  worth. 


By   WINIFRED   ST.  CLAIR. 

"DKUSH  aside  the  golden  curtain 

Of  the  starry  beaming  night, 
Or  the  flushed  and  tinted  mantle 
Of  the  early  morning  light. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  245 

Or  the  long  and  melting  shadows 

Of  the  morn's  soft  silvered  ray, 
As  it  glints  the  distant  waters 

Turning  midnight  into  day. 
In  the  richest  crystal  chalice 

Pure  and  sparkling  waters  pour, 
From  the  tow'ring  cloud  capp'd  mountains, 

And  the  thundering  ocean's  roar —     • 
Gem  the  chalice  rich  and  glowing, 

With  the  fairest  flowers  that  grow, 
Rare  and  white,  and  blooming  brightly 

Purer  than  the  brooklets  flow. 
Brush  aside  the  golden  curtain, 

Here  beneath  the  evening  sky, 
List  ye  to  the  blended  music 

As  it  fills  the  air  on  high, 
As  it  hovers  o'er  the  resting 

Of  our  chieftain  brave  and  true, 
And  it  hymns  a  nation's  mourning 

As  it  floats  the  ether  blue. 
Music  sweet  and  holy, 

That  soothes  the  troubled  soul, 
That  calms  life's  tossing  billows, 

In  their  madd'ning  roll. 
That  calms  life's  tossing  billows, 

That  soothes  the  aching  heart, 
As  one  by  one  the  loved  and  dear 

From  life's  pathway  depart. 
Brush  aside  the  rosy  curtain, 

In  its  soft  and  silken  wave, 
2 1  * 


246  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Kindly  nature's  hushed  to  stillness, 

By  the  honored  chieftain's  grave, 
Sweetly — silently  he's  sleeping, 

And  upon  the  dewy  air 
Floats  the  sacred  notes  of  angels, 

As  his  spirit  hymns  his  prayer. 
Silently  the  chieftain's  sleeping — 
•    Bow  the  head  and  bend  the  knee — 
Dare  not  disturb  the  silence, 

Here  beneath  this  sacred  tree 


By  EBEN    E.   REXFORD. 

AH !  Nation,  weep  thy  bitterest  tears 
^       Above  the  dear,  departed  dead. 
Great  deeds  his  memory  endears, 

And  round  his  name  a  glory  shed. 
Oh !  Nation,  weep !  to  thee  he  gave 

The  boon  of  freedom,  high  and  grand; 
And  now  he  fills  a  patriot's  grave, 

A  martyr  for  the  sorrowing  land. 

Oh,  Banner  that  he  loved,  no  more 

His  eyes  on  earth  to  thee  will  turn; 
From  where  the  heavenly  standards  soar, 

He'll  look  to  see  thy  glories  burn. 
'Tis  meet  that  thou  shouldst  weep  to-day; 

So  droop  thy  folds  against  .the  sky, 
And  mourn  above  the  sacred  clay, 

And  put  thy  glad  rejoicing  by. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  247 

Oh !  Bell,  ring  out  thy  saddest  chimes, 

Upon  the  mournful,  listening  air; 
Each  Northern  heart  with  sorrow  rhymes, 

No  bitterer  pain  the  North  could  bear. 
Ring  out  a  sad  and  sweet  refrain, 

A  requiem  for  the  honored  dead; 
It  will  not  raise  to  life  again, 

But  wake  sweet  echoes  o'er  his  head. 

Oh !  Eagle,  in  the  empyreal  air, 

Bore  thou  his  giant  soul  away, 
To  where  the  Lord's  anointed  are, 

In  God's  unending  glorious  day? 
His  soul  full  oft,  with  Freedom's  zeal, 

Hath  sped  away  on  eagle's  wings, 
To  where  the  hosts  of  Freedom  kneel, 

And  where  the  souls  of  freemen  sing. 

His  life  hath  been  a  beacon-light, 

Through  storm  and  gloomy  night  of  war; 
And  now,  when  morn  drives  out  the  night, 

He  lives  a  higher  life  afar. 
The  end  he  strove  to  gain  is  won; 

The  hosts  of  treason  overthrown ; 
At  last,  we  trust,  the  night  is  done 

With  us — and  him  before  the  throne ! 

Oh,  Freedman,  mourn !  he  raised  thee  up 
From  years  of  toil  and  bondage  sore, 

He  dashed  aside  the  bitter  cup, 

And  said  that  thou  shouldst  drink  no  more. 


248  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

He  gave  to  thee  thy  self  and  soul, 

And  called  thee  by  the  name  of  MAN  ! 

Upon  your  hearts  his  name  enroll, 
As  worker  of  the  freedom  plan. 

The  loss  is  not  our  loss  alone! 

We  lost  a  chieftain  true  and  tried; 
But  freedom  claims  him  for  her  own. 

With  all  a  mother's  tearful  pride. 
But  many  a  heart  across  the  sea, 

That  breathed  with  him  in  freedom's  air ; 
Will  often  say  to  memory, 
"We  lost  our  noblest  brother  there." 

Hail !  chieftain,  on  the  eternal  shore. 

The  whole  world  lost  a  friend  in  thee. 
Still,  freedom-haunted,  hover  o'er 

The  sun-bright  banner  of  the  free. 
Join  hands  with  kindred  souls  on  high, 

With  those  who  fought  in  freedom's  van ; 
And  found  it  pleasure  thus  to  die, 

In  making  free  their  fellow-man. 

Oh !  Nation,  on  thy  tablets  write 

The  name  of  LINCOLN  over  all ! 
And  wreathe  in  red,  and  blue,  and  white, 

The  name  beneath  the  funeral  pall. 
Fold  o'er  him,  in  his  quiet  rest, 

The  grand  old  flag  our  fathers  gave; 
Yes,  let  it  wrap  his  pulseless  breast, 

Within  the  silence  of  the  graye. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  249 

Oh !  Nation,  in  the  coming  years, 

When  Peace  dwells  with  us  all  again, 
Above  his  tomb  we'll  drop  our  tears, 

As  summer  clouds  drop  quiet  rain. 
We'll  tell  our  children,  by  his  grave, 

The  deeds  that  made  us  love  him  so ; 
And  of  the  blessed  boon  he  gave, 

How  blessed,  every  child  shall  know ! 


By  LEAH,   New  Orleans. 

FTE  is  gone — gone  for  ever  !  go  muffle  the  bell ; 

Go  weep,  for  few  spirits  like  his  shall  depart; 
Let  the  loud,  mournful  wail  of  a  great  nation  tell — 
The  grief  that  has  shaken  a  nation's  strong  heart. 
And  bend  the  bright  banner  of  freedom  o'er  him — 

So  willing  to  guard  it,  so  mighty  to  save; 
Be  its  proud  staff  unshaken,  its  stars  never  dim — 
Save  when  drooping  and  moistened  with  tears  at  his 
grave. 

In  the  midst  of  a  tempest  that  threatened  to  tear 

The  bonds  of  our  mighty  Republic  in  twain, 
Like  a  guardian  angel,  his  genius  was  there, 

Gathering  the  links  to  unite  them  again. 
Ah  !  well  may  the  heart  of  America  mourn : 

An  orb  from  her  bright  constellation  has  sped  ! 
An  oak  from  her  forest  of  greatness  is  torn, 

A  hue  from  her  rainbow  of  glory  has  fled ! 

L* 


250  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

His  spirit  has  left  you,  and  gone  to  its  home; 

Kneel,  children  of  freedom,  and  weep  o'er  his  dust; 
Go  call  for  another,  but  whence  shall  he  come  ? 

There  are  many  to  answer,  but  few  ye  can  trust. 
For  he  stood  midst  the  night  of  the  storm-cloud  unmoved, 

'Neath  the  lightning  of  hatred,  unscathed  by  its  shock, 
While  his  heart  ever  clung  to  the  Union  he  loved, 

As  the  roots  of  the  pine-tree  entwine  round  the  rock. 

The  strong  bark  is  shattered, — its  wreck  has  swept  on 

Where  the  billows  of  death  in  their  mournfulness  flow ; 
The  rudder  is  lost,  and  the  pilot  has  gone 

Where  the  winds  of  adversity  never  can  blow. 
He  is  gone  !  but  his  greatness  has  kindled  a  fire 

In  the  temple  of  fame,  on  Columbia's  shore — 
A  beacon  of  glory  that  cannot  expire 

'Till  truth  be  forgotten  and  freedom's  no  more. 


By  GULA  MEREDITH. 

/~1  0  to  that  land  where  the  martyrs  await  thee ; 

Hark  to  their  shouts  as  they  welcome  thee  home  : 
There,  in  that  clime,  none  shall  harm  thee  or  hate  thee, 
For  into  heaven  no  treason  dare  come ! 

Go  where  the  waters  of  life,  ever  flowing, 
Wash  from  the  spirit  all  traces  of  sin ; 

Nevermore  of  the  cares  and  the  toils  of  earth  knowing, 
Into  thy  rest,  martyred  one,  enter  in. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  251 

Into  thy  hands  the  "  victor's  palm "  given ; 

Placed  on  thy  brow  the  circlet  of  gold ; 
Henceforth  an  heir  of  the  glories  of  heaven, 

Thine  shall  be  pleasures  and  rapture  untold. 

These  are  all  thine !  but  for  us    that  remaineth  ? 

We,  who  have  known  thee  and  loved  thee  for  years  ? 
Naught  but  the  tomb  that  thy  body  containeth, 

And  a  sorrow  that  cannot  be  lightened  by  tears. 

See!  round  thy  tomb  how  a  nation  comes  weeping; 

Hush  ye  your  wailing  and  smother  each  moan ; 
Disturb  not  his  rest  where  our  martyr  is  sleeping; 

Enwrapped  in  his  glory,  go,  leave  him  alone ! 

Soft  o'er  that  tomb  shall  the  winds  whisper  ever; 

Sweet  shall  the  birds  sing;  the  flowers  bloom  fair; 
Enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  thy  people  for  ever, 

As  sweet  and  as  fresh  shall  thy  memory  be  there ! 


By  HENRY  B.   HIRST. 

'THE  ground  is  white  with  apple  blossoms, 

As  though  a  fragrant  snow  lay  there; 
And  from  the  meadows'  breezy  bosoms 

The  blackbird's  music  floods  the  air; 
But  he,  who  heard  the  robin's  whistle, 

Last  spring,  among  the  apple's  bloom — 
The  liberator,  priest,  and  saviour — 

The  MARTYR  !  passes  to  his  tomb. 


252  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Through  the  long  avenues  of  cities, 

Through  the  commingling  people's  hum. 
Marshalled  by  sighs,  and  sobs,  and  pities, 

The  sacred  relics  onward  come. 
The  very  leaves  themselves  are  weeping; 

While  tears  fill  every  earthly  eye, 
As  mournfully  the  cortege,  sweeping 

To  solemn  dirges,  passes  by. 

Toll  slowly,  bells,  toll  very  slowly, 

Murmur  in  moans  a  nation's  woe; 
Boom,  minute  guns,  most  melancholy, 

Heaven's  thunder  echoed  from  below. 
Close  every  door,  shut  every  casement, 

Drape  every  banner-fold  with  black, 
Mourn,  silent  streets,  from  roof  to  basement, 

One  passes  hence  to  come  not  back. 

Through  the  long  cycles  of  the  ages, 

Searching  the  catacombs  of  time, 
Blazoned  in  gold  on  history's  pages, 

No  ether  name  stands  more  sublime. 
And  since  the  awful  crucifixion, 

And  since  the  damned  deed  of  Cain. 
No  record  lives  of  such  affliction, 

None  greater  numbered  with  the  slain. 

The  ground  is  white  with  apple  blossoms. 

As  though  a  fragrant  snow  lay  there; 
And  from  the  meadows'  breezy  bosoms 

The  blackbird's  music  floods  the  air. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  253 

But  he,  who  heard  the  robin's  whistle, 
Last  spring,  among  the  apple's  hlooui, 

The  liberator,  priest,  and  saviour — 
The  MARTYR  !  passes  to  his  tomb. 


By    S.   B.   H- 


TTARK !  from  New  England's  vine-clad  hills, 

The  birth-place  of  the  free, 
And  from  our  noble  prairie  land, 

The  home  of  Liberty, 
A  wail  of  sorrow  fills  the  air, 

For  deed  of  murder  done, 
Staining  the  flag  that  proudly  spreads 

Her  eagle  toward  the  sun. 

Staining  the  noble  heritage 

For  which  our  fathers  bled — 
Staining  with  deeper  dye  the  land 

Where  sleeps  the  mighty  dead, 
Who  won  the  regal  crown  she  wore. 

And  placed  it  on  her  brow — 
Alas,  for  proud  Columbia's  name ! 

'Tis  soiled — 'tis  tarnished  now. 

The  martyr  sleeps — his  stalwart  arm 

Is  meekly  folded  o'er 
The  heart  that  throbbed  for  human  woes. 

But  it  shall  throb  no  more. 

22 


254  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

The  hand  is  still — the  visage  marred, 

In  placid  silence  lies; 
The  silvery  locks  are  parted  o'er. 

And  closed  the  sightless  eyes. 

The  martyr  sleeps — but  he  hath  borne 

The  cry  of  the  oppressed 
Up  to  the  great  Jehovah's  throne, 

And  passed  into  his  rest. 
He  sleeps — but  from  his  dust  shall  rise 

The  birth-cry  of  the  free, 
And  o'er  his  peaceful  grave  shall  rest 

The  star  of  Liberty. 


By    H.  A.   L- 


rPHY  ways,  0  God,  are  strange  to  us, 

We  cannot  find  them  out; 
Oh !  give  us  faith  to  hope  and  trust, 
That  we  may  never  doubt. 

Our  hearts  are  sad — the  nation  mourns 

Its  great  and  noble  chief; 
And  over  all  the  land  there  rolls 

The  surges  of  its  grief. 

"With  charity  to  all,"  he  breathed 

His  gentle  life  away, 
And  left  a  fragrance  pure  and  sweet 
As  flowers  of  balmy  May. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  255 

"With  charity  to  all," — to  thee, 
0 !  fiend,  who  dealt  the  blow 
Which  plunged  the  land  in  bitter  tears, 
This  charity  did  flow. 

"With  charity  to  all," — to  thee, 

Thou  spirit  of  the  pit, 
To  thee,  which  made  us  thus  to  mourn, 
And  in  sackcloth  to  sit. 

0  !  justice,  let  thy  sword  be  swift 

To  punish  such  a  deed ! 
O !  earth  in  sorrow  bow  thy  head, 

And  for  our  country  plead ! 

By    R.   M.  JOHNSON. 

TTEAR!  ten  thousand  bells  reveal  it! 

See !  a  million  shrouded  banners  seal  it ! 
Twice  ten  million  hearts  do  feel  it! — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 

When  the  nation  freedom's  song  is  singing — 
While  the  echo  far  and  wide  is  ringing —  • 
"  Peace  on  earth,"  and  mercy  to  them  bringing — 

Lincoln  is  dead! 

When  the  noblest  victory  of  the  ages, 
Marks  our  nation's  grand  historic  pages, 
Honest  leaders !  purest  of  her  band  of  sages — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 


2oG  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

He,  who  in  compassion  often  shielded; 

Who  a  mighty  vengeance  could  have  wielded. 

Ere  the  traitor  demons  hardly  yielded — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 

Never  blood  of  man  so  precious  given, 
Never  hearts  so  many  sorely  riven, 
Save  for  Him  who  purchased  heaven — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 

God  is  teaching  in  this  trying  hour, 
And  we  yet  may  see  His  mighty  power 
In  the  justice  that  shall  quickly  lower — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 

By  the  martyred  brave,  who  liberty  defended ; 
By  his  hand,  struck  down  when  mercifully  extended, 
Let  us  swear  that  traitors'  days  shall  now  be  ended — 

Lincoln  is  dead ! 


By    WM.   BOYLAN. 

TLLUSTBJOUS  martyr !— friend  of  the  oppress'd. 

•  Thy  ashes  we  bear  to  the  far  distant  West, 
To  lay  'neath  the  sod  of  your  own  native  soil — 
Patriot,  statesman,  and  true  son  of  toil. 

Thy  mem'ry  we  cherish — it  shall  ne'er  be  forgot ; 
Our  deliverer ! — the  victim  of  treason's  foul  plot — 
In  thy  look  could  be  seen  the  last  dying  word, 
"  They  know  not  what  they  do,  forgive  them,  0  Lord. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  257 

The  prayer  of  the  bondman  went  up  night  and  day, 
"Lord,  send  us  a  Moses  to  show  us  the  way." 
Like  Moses  of  old,  thou  didst  lead  them  safe  through, 
Till  the  fair  land  of  Canaan  each  pilgrim  could  view. 

While  a  nation  rejoiced  at  the  hright  dawn  of  peace, 
When  bloodshed,  and  carnage,  and  murder  should  cease. 
The  assassin,  with  dagger  and  pistol  in  hand, 
Spread  a  pall  of  deep  mourning  all  over  the  land. 
Did  he  think  that  by  taking  thy  innocent  life 
He  would  thus  put  an  end  to  this  terrible  strife? 
No;  it  united  all  freemen  as  one  solid  rock 
To  grind  all  to  powder  who  dare  stand  its  shock. 

Past  ages  their  heroes  and  martyrs  may  boast, 
The  future  may  furnish  a  still  greater  host; 
But  when  the  historian  the  long  roll  shall  call, 
The  name  of  A.  LINCOLN  shall  tower  above  all. 


By    Rev.  ALEX.    CLARK. 

rPHE  Lord  is  near !  with  Sinai  tread 

He  comes  to  earth  again; 
From  sudden  darkness  overhead, 
A  tongue  of  lightning,  clear  and  dread, 
Enough  to  wake  the  dusty  dead, 
Proclaims  God's  will  to  men. 

Oh,  bleeding  country !  now  arise, 

And  call  upon  the  Lord. 
22  * 


258  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Thy  broken  heart  and  tearful  eyes 
Win  pity  on  thee  from  the  skies, 
Through  Christ,  the  world's  slain  sacrifice, 
Who  saves  thee  by  His  word. 

Thou  God  of  nations;  hear  our  prayer; 

We  lift  our  thoughts  to  Thee ; 
Our  sinful  nation's  life,  oh,  spare ! 
And  may  our  grief  Thy  grace  declare, 
By  every  Christly  cross  we  bear, 

To  bless  and  make  men  free  ! 


By    UMBRA. 

HHHE  hour  is  past — the  deed  is  done ! 
A  nation  mourns  a  ruler  gone ! 

His  life  is  sped. 

The  news  has  flashed  along  the  wires, 
And  in  each  loyal  heart  inspires 

A  sense  of  dread. 

And  shall  the  sword  of  justice  sleep, 
The  while  we  stand  and  idly  weep, 

With  'bated  breath? 
No!  "By  the  Eternal,"  let  us  swear 
That  we  are  freemen  still,  and  dare 

Avenge  his  death. 

And,  vainly  though  the  murderer  try, 
By  many  a  deep-laid  scheme,  to  fly 
A  nation's  wrath; 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  259 

The  thousands  who  are  brave  and  true. 
With  hearts  to  will,  and  hands  to  do, 
Beset  his  path. 

For,  through  the  tears  we  vainly  weep, 
A  cry  for  vengeance  conies,  with  deep 

Resistless  power; 

And  though  a  cloud  is  on  each  brow. 
That  broods  in  sadness  o'er  it  now, 

We  bide  the  hour. 


By    M.  G.   HALPINE. 

T  ET  victory  her  shining  forehead  veil, 

•"     And  let  the  flag,  he  loved  so  well,  droop  low ! 

Seen  through  our  tears,  its  starry  field  grows  pale, 

Draped  with  the  symbol  of  a  nation's  woe ! 
It  was  not  his  to  fall  with  those  who  led 

The  van,  where,  now,  its  folds  wave  broad  and  free, 
And  yet  not  one  of  all  our  martyred  dead 

Has  died  a  braver,  nobler  death  than  he  ! 

Although,  at  noon,  has  set  his  glorious  sun, 

Let  not  our  hearts  grow  faint,  our  faith  wax-  dim ; 
Nor  weakly  grieve,  as  tho'  he  left  undone 

The  weighty  task  the  Master-  gave  to  him. 
Like  Him,  whose  cause  he  served,  whose  home  he  shares, 

It  was  his  solemn  work,  his  mission  high, 
Through  weary  months  to  bear  a  nation's  cares, — 

Then,  for  the  holy  truths  he  taught,  to  die! 


260  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Our  chosen  Moses  has  passed  on  before; 

Yet,  ere  his  footsteps  touched  the  shining  strand, 
He  saw  the  star  of  freedom  rise  once  more, — 

From  Pisgah's  mount  he  viewed  the  promised  land ! 
E'en  at  the  best,  frail  children  of  the  dust, 

Oft  must  we  "walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight;" 
Still  must  we  feel  that  He,  in  whom  we  trust, 

However  dark  the  way,  will  lead  us  right. 

If  it  shall  join,  as  one,  each  sorrowing  heart 

To  finish  loell  the  work  his  hand  begun ; 
If  it  a  higher,  purer  zeal  impart, 

His  death  may  do  more  than  his  life  has  done ! 
For,  by  the  tears  we  shed,  the  shame  we  feel, 

This  fearful  gloom,  with  grief  and  horror  rife, 
We  learn  no  light  and  careless  touch  can  heal 

The  treacherous  wound  that  sought  a  nation's  life ! 


ANONYMOUS. 

A     NATION  grieves — 'tis  sorrow's  night, — 
•^     Yet  says  "God's  will  be  done!" 
Arraigning  not  th'  Eternal's  might, 

She  mourns  her  martyr  son, 
In  triumph's  hour,  with  loud  acclaim. 

Her  banners  sought  the  sky, 
But  midst  her  joy  affliction  came — 

Her  flag  is  half-mast  high. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  261 

Too  well  th'  assassin's  hand  prevailed 

O'er  him,  the  staunch  and  true, 
Whom  faction's  arms  in  vain  assailed — 

He  braved  the  tempest  through. 
Not  only  in  his  country's  bound, 

Goes  forth  the  bitter  cry; 
For  him  in  sorrowing  nations  round, 

The  flag  is  half-mast  high. 

When  discord  hurled  her  ruthless  brand 

Where  peace  all  smiling  reigned, 
And  war  with  fratricidal  hand 

Columbia's  soil  profaned, 
Aloft  he  held  with  giant  limb 

Her  flag  while  storms  passed  by, 
And  only  now,  in  grief  for  him, 

That  flag  is  half-mast  high. 

He  loved  and  sought  his  country's  fame — 

Proud  might  to  her  he  gave — 
He  lived  and  earned  a  patriot's  name — 

He  found  a  martyr's  grave. 
Columbia's  son!  while  by  his  tomb 

Thou  stand'st  with  tear-dimmed  eye, 
Resolve  to  live  like  him  for  whom 

The  flag's  now  half-mast  high. 

Montreal,   Canada. 


262  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

THE    BLOSSOM    OF   THE   SOUTH. 

By  INA  D.  COOLBRITH. 

TTTHILE  yet  the  land  was  young, 
*  *     The  planter  of  the  South  flung  forth  a  seed : 

"A  goodly  tree!"  he  said, 
Although,  indeed,  we  called  it  but  a  weed; 
Till  by  the  hot  soil  warmed  and  nourished, 

Up  to  the  light  it  sprung. 

'Twas  cause  for  wondering, 
How  that  land  yet  moistened  with  the  blood 

Of  freedom's  brotherhood — 

That  plucked,  in  God's  own  name,  the  starry  gem 
Of  liberty  from  England's  diadem — 

Could  bear  so  foul  a  thing. 

Yet  year  by  year  it  grew, 

And  put  forth  leaves.     And  they  did  nurture  it 
With  the  tears  and  blood  of  bondage,  and  the  sweat 
Wrung  from  the  forehead  of  the  slave, 

And  still  no  heed  we  gave ; 
Until  its  branches  spread  on  either  hand, 
And  over  half  the  land 

Their  baleful  shadow  threw. 

And  so  it  stood,  at  last, 
An  evil  thing  that  could  no  longer  hide 
From  the  strong  north  wind;  for  its  poisonous  dew 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  263 

Kained  on  our  temples,  and  from  every  leaf 
There  hissed  a  serpent-challenge!     Would  ye  know 
How  answered?     It  is  written  far  and  wide, 
By  the  fierce  hand  of  war,  on  field  and  plain 

Heaped  with  the  nation's  slain  ! 
Answered  in  deeds  whose  memory  shall  last 

Till,  time  itself  be  past ! 

But  oh,  not  yet  the  tree  has  ripened, 
And  the  full  bud  expanded  to  the  flower ! 

Lo!  in  our  trial  hour 
God  gave  to  us  a  leader  :  pure  and  true 
His  great  heart  was,  as  the  great  cause  he  led — 
And  led  to  victory!     And  the  people  knew 
His  worth,  and  loved  him :  placing  its  strong  hand 
In  his,  as  fearless  as  a  little  child 
Within  its  sire's.     Stainless  and  undefiled 
He  stood  erect — God's  chosen  to  command ! 

The  Southron  sowed  the  seed. 
That  to-day  opened  in  a  flower  blood-red ! 
Within  whose  deadly  leaves  there  lurked  a  deed 

To  shake  a  world  with  grief. 
A  Southron  plucked  the  blooms,  and  garlanded. 
And  placed  them  on  the  forehead  of  our  chief! 

Oh,  reapers  of  the  North ! 
Ye  know  it  now — the  tree  with  all  its  fruit, 

Have  ye  not  sickles  keen  and  strong  ?     Go  forth ! 
The  branches  droop,  indeed,  but  the  foul  root 

Still  festers  in  the  soil;  and  God  has  said 


264  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO   THE 

The  land  is  His,  and  must  be  purified ! 

So  when  once  more  Columbia  lifts  her  head, 
Worthy  to  be  called  free,  and  wears  in  pride 
Her  lily-crown  of  peace,  shall  we  not  bring, 
First,  to  Jehovah's  throne  an  offering — 
Next,  to  the  tomb  where  rests  the  honored  head 

Of  our  beloved  dead? 

San   Francisco. 

By  KATIE  W.   NICHOLS. 

rpHROUGH  four  sad  sacrificial  years, 

Rivers  have  poured  of  blood  and  tears ; 
And  now  with  sudden  grief  oppressed, 
We  yield  our  dearest  and  our  best. 

One  traitor  hand — one  direful  blow — 
Has  plunged  unnumbered  hearts  in  woe : 
From  Eastern  shore  to  Western  steeps, 
Lo !  the  whole  stricken  nation  weeps. 

OUR  LEADER — when  thy  blood  was  shed, 
When  thou  didst  join  the  honored  dead, 
On  Freedom's  altar  we  laid  down 
Of  all  our  sacrifice — the  crown. 

Alas!  that  his  most  precious  blood 
Should  mingle  with  the  crimson  flood, 
In  whose  remedial  mighty  tide 
A  nation's  guilt  is  purified. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  265 

He  led  us  till  the  weary  night 
Was  yielding  to  the  longed-for  light; 
He  caught  the  dawn's  first  kindling  ray, 
Then  entered  heaven's  eternal  day ! 

Our  Moses  he — whose  faithful  hand 
Led  us  so  near  the  promised  land : 
He  saw  its  distant  palm  trees  wave — 
We  strew  their  branches  o'er  his  grave ! 

Oh,  dearly  loved  and  martyred  one! 
Our  country's  second  WASHINGTON  ! 
Thy  children  come  in  silent  gloom, 
And  weep  to-day  around  thy  tomb ! 

Our  hearts  are  buried  there  with  thee : 

Forever  fresh  thy  memory  be ; 

For  loving  hearts  till  time  shall  end 

Shall  bless  thy  name  as  FREEDOM'S  FRIEND  ! 

From  that  fresh  grave  we  turn  away 
With  saddened  hearts,  to  kneel  and  pray 
That  in  the  future  we  may  see 
God  chooses  wiser  far  than  we. 


By  L.  W.  F- 


T)UT  yester  night  the  joyous  bells 

Pealed  out  their  gladsome  strain, 
And  cannons  thundered  forth  their  glee, 
Till  echo  sent  the  jubilee 

O'er  valley,  hill  and  plain. 
23  M 


266  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

And  starry  banners  waved  aloft, 
And  patriot  shout  and  boast 

Were  heard  exultant  through  the  land. 

For  glorious  victories,  great  and  grand. 
Had  crowned  our  gallant  host. 

But  now,  alas !  the  nation's  joy 

Is  turned  to  direst  grief; 
The  exultant  shout — a  wail  of  woe, 
Instead  of  mirth — our  tears  now  flow 

For  him.  the  nation's  chief. 

Cut  down  in  all  his  glorious  strength, 

Our  country's  earthly  guide, 

A  Joshua  o'er  our  valiant  band, 

To  lead  us  to  that  promised  land 

Of  peace;  where  we'd  abide. 

But  God.  who  rules  and  reigns  o'er  all, 

Hath  dealt  the  blow  in  love. 
The  work  He  gave  him  to  do, 
He  faithfully  has  carried  through, 
And  wears  the  crown  above. 

Altho'  a  cruel  murderous  foe 
His  precious  life-blood  drains, 

Though  traitors  seek  our  country's  doom. 

And  everything  seems  wrapt  in  gloom, 
We  still  believe   God  reigns. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  267 


THE   PRESIDENT'S   DKEAM. 

By  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  TAYLOR. 

A  THWART  the  troubled  waters  swiftly  sailing 

Thou  saw'st  the  phantom  vessel  cleave  its  way  : 
Around  its  path  the  wandering  winds  were  wailing. 

And  white  around  it  flashed  the  angry  spray. 
Alas !  it  flitted  o'er  a  troubled  ocean 

Where  withering  winds  swept  wildly  as  it  past. 
And  urged  it  onward  with  unquiet  motion, 

Tossed  by  the  tempest  long — but  moored  at  last. 

'Twas  but  the  emblem  of  the  swiftly  gliding 

And  waning  hours  of  thy  imperilled  life, 
The  briefness  of  thy  glorious  day  betiding, 

Thou  pilot  on  the  sea  of  freedom's  strife ! 
Thou  too  wert  battling  with  the  tempest's  power : 

Thine  too  a  pathway  o'er  a  stormy  deep; 
But  now  the  port  is  gained,  no  storm-clouds  lower. 

The  bark  is  safe — oh !  faithful  pilot,  sleep ! 

As  the  swift  ships  that  on  the  far-off  waters 

Wax  dim  and  vanish — so  we  pass  away 
From  life's  sad  ocean — so  earth's  sons  and  daughters 

Fade  like  the  shadows  of  the  dying  day; 
But  thou,  our  chief!  hast  left  a  noble  story 

Of  truth  and  triumph  for  our  sons  to  tell, 
Thy  vanished  bark  hath  left  a  wake  of  glory 

To  follow  thee  along  time's  ocean  swell. 


268  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Thou  wert  the  vessel  first  God's  message  bringing, 
Glad  news  of  freedom  to  Columbia's  strand, 

From  Afric's  sons  the  tyrant's  fetters  wringing, 
"  Proclaiming  liberty  throughout  the  land." 

Oh,  now  no  blot  of  slavery  shall  stain  us ! 

Henceforth  we  stand,  a  commonwealth  all  free ! 

Thou  wert  the  first  that  blessed  boon  to  gain  us, 
Oh,  martyr  on  the  shrine  of  liberty ! 

Thy  bark  hath  faded  from  earth's  gloomy  water; 

Safe  moored  where  never  clouds  nor  storms  arise, 
Far  from  these  billowy  wastes  all  red  with  slaughter, 

Thy  post  is  won — the  haven  of  the  skies. 
Thy  sail  is  furled  ainid  celestial  islands, 

'Neath  fadeless  sunlight  and  eternal  day; 
Why  should  we  mourn  that  to  those  glorious  skylands, 

From  troubled  shores,  the  swift  ship  fled  away  ? 

Not  unto  thee — to  us — belongs  the  sighing, 

The  wail  of  anguish  and  the  falling  tear ! 
Not  unto  thee — to  us — the  pang — the  dying 

Of  proud  hopes  sinking  withered  by  thy  bier. 
Ours  the  wild  dirge — the  shrouded  flag — the  weeping — 

The  death-bell  tolling  from  the  sombre  dome ; 
Thine,  the  loved  form  in  stilly  grandeur  sleeping, 

The  crown  of  glory,  and  the  heavenly  home. 


MEMORY    OF  ABRAHAM   LINCOLN.  269 


ANONYMOUS. 

A  S  orphans  round  the  mournful  bier 
•*"*•         Where  rests  a  father's  head, 
Stand  silent,  while  the  glistening  tear 

Falls  hot  above  the  dead; 
So  we,  a  nation  orphaned  now. 

Our  hearts  with  anguish  rent, 
Stand,  one  great  weeping  family. 

By  our  dead  President. 

He  was  our  MOSES;  through  the  sea 

Red  with  fraternal  blood, 
He  led  our  nation,  while  our  foe 

Sank  in  the  angry  flood. 
Through  this  dark  wilderness  of  war, 

Light  from  his  face  has  shone, 
As  from  some  Sinai's  burning  top, 

He  came  a  prophet  down. 

His  voice  in  clarion  notes  rang  out 

The  bondman's  jubilee; 
His  name  is  on  the  freedman's  tongue, 

Watchword  of  liberty. 
Thy  might,  0  God,  was  in  his  heart; 

Thy  wisdom  made  him  wise; 
He  lived  a  man — he  ruled  a  prince — 

He  died  a  sacrifice. 

0  Lord,  is  this  Thy  hand  divine 

That  holds  the  bitter  rod? 
23  * 


270  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Help  us  to  bow  and  kiss  Thy  hand, 
Our  chastening,  loving  God. 

Anoint  for  us  with  oil  of  grace 

Our  JOSHUA — who  shall  stand, 

Our  Israel  safe,  this  Jordan  crossed, 
In  the  glad  promised  land. 


ANONYMOUS. 

rpOLL!  Toll!  Toll! 
-*•    On  every  hand, 
Ye  bells,  throughout  the  land; 
Our  noble  leader  in  his  glory  lies, 
The  damp  of  death  upon  his  sealed  eyes — 
A  martyr  true  to  liberty  he  dies. 
Toll!  Toll!  Toll! 

Weep !  Weep !  Weep ! 
On  every  hand, 
Ye  heroes  of  the  land; 
Our  chieftain's  dead. 
Great  God!  and  must  it  be? 
Alas,  how  brief  is  our  mortality! 
Our  Father,  help  and  bless  to  us  this  agony. 

Weep  !  Weep  !  Weep  ! 

Mourn  !  Mourn  !  Mourn ! 
On  every  hand, 
Ye  patriots  of  the  land; 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  271 

No  more  his  honest  face  will  greet  the  sun — 
His  day  is  finished  and  his  work  is  done : 
A  crown  of  glory  rests  his  brow  upon. 
Mourn !  Mourn !  Mourn  ! 


By   EDWARD  P.  NOWELL. 

i  what  a  ghastly,  bleeding  wound 
The  nation  suffers  from  this  day ! 
Throughout  the  land  is  heard  no  sound, 
Save  sorrow's  dirge  of  deep  dismay ! 

Most  honored  chief!     We  mourn  his  loss 
Far  more  than  anguished  heart  can  tell; 

We  bow  beneath  the  cumbrous  cross 
Upborne  for  him  we  loved  so  well ! 

His  wisdom,  truth,  fidelity, 

Rejoiced  us  with  his  just  renown; 

Woe,  woe !  that  man  so  base  should  be, 
As  dastardly  to  strike  him  down ! 

True  freedom's  martyr !  tears  of  grief 
In  floods  from  sorrow's  clouds  outpour, 

Bedewing  joy's  rich  harvest  sheaf, 
Ere  safe  within  fruition's  store. 

Will  bitter  tears  e'er  be  repressed  ? 

Can  joy  relume  our  hearts  again  ? 
Shall  sighs  control  the  harrowed  breast? 

Must  pleasure  be  usurped  by  pain  ? 


272  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Almighty  Father !     Thou  our  trust ! 

We  ever  in  Thy  grace  repose ; 
Dear  Saviour !  raise  us  from  the  dust, 

Assuage  our  grief  and  heal  our  woes  1 


By  C.   R.   B- 


OD  of  our  fathers,  hear, 
To  Thee  we  lift  our  prayer 
In  danger's  hour; 
Now  while  the  tempests  rave 
Over  the  land  and  wave, 
Do  Thou  the  nation  save; 
Thou  hast  the  power. 

Where  the  fierce  battle-stroke 
Rolls  up  its  sulphur  smoke, 

Blotting  the  sky; 
'Mid  the  wild  conflict's  roar, 
Where  war's  red  torrents  pour, 
Clotting  the  fields  with  gore ; 

God,  hear  the  cry. 

Stay  Thou  the  tears  and  blood 
That  roll  a  purple  flood 

O'er  all  the  land. 
Oh,  mark  the  widow's  sigh, 
Oh,  hear  the  orphan's  cry, 
And,  from  Thy  throne  on  high. 

Deliv'rance  send. 


MEMORY   OF  ASK  AH  AM  LINCOLN.  273 

Oh,  bid  our  warrings  cease, 
Let  the  sweet  dove  of  peace 

On  us  descend. 
Hear  the  oppressed  complain, 
Break  every  tyrant's  chain, 
Rend  every  bond  in  twain, 

Bid  thraldom  end. 

By  THOMAS  WARD. 

TTE  died  with  mercy  on  his  lips 

As  the  dread  need  to  ask  it  came : 
When  could  he  go  with  better  grace 
That  mercy  of  his  God  to  claim  ? 

He  fell  surrendering  to  his  Lord 

The  vengeance-bolt  within  his  hand : 

What  pardon-plea  could  sinner  make 
Like  such  submission  to  command  ? 

Strong  was  his  will  to  serve  the  State, 
And  strong  his  arm  to  break  the  foe, 

Most  strong  his  manly  tenderness 
When  the  opposer  was  laid  low. 

Then  rest,  great  heart,  in  humble  hope ! 

The  follower  in  his  Master's  way 
Finds  advocates  in  good  men's  tongues 

And  friendly  Judge  on  trial-day. 

M* 


274  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    SAM.   WHITING. 

"YI7ELL  may  the  nation  mourn  for  him. 
**       Who  lies  in  death's  embraces  low, 
Whose  kindly-beaming  glance  is  dim, 

Whose  fate  has  filled  all  hearts  with  woe. 

We  follow  him  from  humble  youth. 

Up  to  his  manhood's  riper  years; 
How  radiant,  in  the  light  of  truth. 

The  history  of  his  life  appears ! 

Called  by  his  country  to  the  helm. 

As  pilot  of  our  Ship  of  State, 
When  storms  seemed  destined  to  o'erwhelm, 

And  our  proud  foes  were  all  elate : 

How  grandly  we  beheld  him  rise 

Above  all  bitter  party  strife ! 
He  saw  but  one  alluring  prize — 

His  darling  country's  rescued  life. 

Through  all  this  strife  of  civil  war, 

With  faction's  blood-hounds  on  his  track. 

He  sought  to  heal  the  nation's  sore. 
To  win  the  rebel  leaders  back. 

Oh !  traitors  to  your  native  land. 

Behold  the  lessons  you  have  taught 
In  the  assassin's  blood-stained  hand — 

In  this  deep  woe  your  deeds  have  wrought. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  275 

A  nobler  heart  than  his  ne'er  beat — 
He  broke  the  fetters  off  the  slave — 

His  soul  may,  at  the  mercy-seat, 
With  full  assurance  mercy  crave. 

The  tender  heart  is  cold  in  death, 
The  loving  eyes  are  closed  for  aye. 

The  nation  stands  with  bated  breath. 
While  peals  the  wild  funereal  cry. 

Bear  the  dead  martyr  to  his  rest, 
Far  from  the  scene  of  bloody  crime ; 

Earth's  noblest  will  his  worth  attest, 
And  consecrate  through  future  time. 

Mercy  to  those  who  mercy  show," 

Now  let  the  murd'rous  rebels  feel 
How  heavy  falls  the  avenging  blow 

From  justice  with  her  hand  of  steel. 

By    Miss    S.  A.   M'CAFFREY. 

OD  save  Columbia, 

Still  free  and  glorious; 
Save  our  loved  land; 

Let  strife  and  carnage  cease, 

From  direful  war  release, 

0  God,  now  grant  us  peace ! 
Save,  save  our  land. 

God  save  Columbia ! 

Our  fathers  bled  and  died 


276  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

For  thy  dear  land; 

Thou  who  didst  make  us  free 
From  Britain's  tyranny, 
All  hearts  now  cry  to  Thee, 

God  save  our  land ! 

God  save  Columbia, 

Her  altars  and  firesides; 
God  save  our  land; 

Let  love,  not  hate,  prevail, 

Be  hushed  the  mourner's  wail ; 

Thy  strong  arm  cannot  fail; 
Save,  save  our  land. 

God  save  Columbia, 

Shield  her  lov'd  stripes  and  stars; 
God  save  our  land; 

Stretch  thine  arm  over  us. 

Make  us  victorious ! 

Still  free  and  glorious; 
God  save  our  land. 

By    ADOLPH    ANCKER. 

A  Y !  burst  with  grief  your  cannon's  iron  throats, 
And  hurl  their  thunders  on  the  morning  air ; 
Upon  your  bells  toll  only  saddest  notes, 

For  hini  ye  mourn  who  never  more  shall  hear. 

Shroud  all  your  banners  in  the  deepest  woe, 
With  fun'ral  dirges  make  the  air  resound ; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  277 

Let  labor,  too,  its  '  custom' d  toil  forego, 
And  feel  the  melancholy  hov'ring  'round. 

Soon  will  the  grave  the  patriot  martyr  claim. 

His  soul  an  off'ring  to  almighty  truth ; 
Nations  unborn  shall  emulate  his  fame, 

Forever  glowing,  with  immortal  youth. 

Pray  G-od  that  from  his  ashes  may  arise 
Another  soul  as  noble,  pure  and  great; 

Another  Lincoln,  whose  far-searching  eyes 

May  find  the  safe  path  for  the  Ship  of  State. 

High  o'er  his  bones  the  sculptur'd  marble  raise; 

And  oh !  ye  vot'ries  of  the  tuneful  nine, 
Give  to  the  great  one  his  just  meed  of  praise 

In  better  verse  than  these  poor  lines  of  mine. 


By    EMMA    BENTON    BENNETT. 

/  \NWARD  and  upward,  martial  strains, 

^  Float  o'er  our  dear  transcendent  plains. 

Compressing  music  into  woe, 

Sighing  more  soft  as  far  ye  go, 

Scarce  soothing  hearts  that  sorely  mourn — 

A  nation  by  his  power  upborne, 

Who  broke  the  fetters  of  the  slave, 

To  consecrate  our  LINCOLN'S  grave! 

Discourse  the  airs  he  loved  the  best, 
Before  we  lay  him  there  to  rest. 
24 


278  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Where  all  the  sweets  of  prairie  flowers, 
And  melodies  from  birdling  bowers, 
Shall  year  by  year,  in  song  and  bloom. 
Surround  his  calm  immortal  tomb; 
Where  they  of  every  age  and  clime 
Shall  come  to  think  and  grow  sublime ! 

Dead  marches  seem  unfitting  now, 
When  such  a  patriot's  form  is  low ; 
The  country  he  has  served  so  well 
Prolongs  a  deep  funereal  knell, 
But  through  its  mighty  agony 
Millions  remember  they  are  free ! 
And  sing,  "  Columbia,  happy  land," 
A  chastened  but  a  stronger  band. 

ANONYMOUS. 

H^HE  joyous  bells  rang  through  the  land. 

And  every  heart  was  beating  high. 
Friends  clasped  each  other  by  the  hand, 

And  tears  of  joy  dimmed  many  an  eye; 
.  For  after  four  long  years  of  war, 
Rebellion  tottered  to  its  base — 
Richmond  is  ours  !     Our  toils  are  o'er ! 
Soon  peace  will  show  her  smiling  face ! 

And  he  who  through  the  direful  strife, 
So  wise,  so  well  had  borne  his  part. 

Had  saved  from  harm  the  nation's  life, 
Was  taken  to  the  nation's  heart ; 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  279 

The  cannon  roared,  the  bells  were  swung, 
And  praise  from  all  to  him  was  given, 

His  name  was  heard  on  every  tongue, 
And  blessings  bore  it  up  to  heaven. 

Alas!  each  heart  is  filled  with  woe — 

Our  joy  is  changed  to  saddest  grief, 
A  dastard's  hand,  a  secret  foe, 

Has  slain  the  man  who  was  our  chief; 
The  minute  guns  boom  through  each  town, 

The  joyous  bells  now  sadly  toll, 
The  blow  which  struck  our  ruler  down 

Has  reached,  has  pierced  the  nation's  soul. 

O  Thou  who  canst  alone  restrain 

The  wrath  of  man,  we  look  to  Thee, 
Forgive  us  if  we  feel  the  pain 

Too  great  to  bear;  we  cannot  see 
The  end  Thou  seest;  we  blindly  grope; 

Lead  us,  0  God !  lead  us  aright ! 
In  Thee  alone  we  trust,  we  hope ; 

Unveil  our  eyes  and  show  us  light. 

But  he  who  now  in  death  lies  cold, 

The  victim  of  rebellious  hate, 
Shall  have  his  name  full  high  enrolled 

With  those  whom  men  have  called  "the   Great;" 
'Twas  for  his  country's  cause  he  died, 

And  thus  with  martyrs,  heroes,  sages, 
His  country  will  hand  down  with  pride, 

His  name  through  all  the  coming  ages. 


280  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    K.   P.  GRIFFIN. 

p  REAT  God !  what  shadows  on  our  footsteps  fall, 

Unutterable  woes  our  spirits  bend ; 
How  beauteous  hope  and  sharp  appalling  grief 
In  quick  strange  contrast  and  succession  blend. 

The  rosy  hues  of  yester-morning's  dawn 

Were  full  of  promise,  pregnant  with  delight; 

Demoniac  spirits  now  flit  o'er  the  scene, 

Flame   o'er   the  hideous   landscape   and  obscure   our 
sight. 

Good  heart,  great  friend  of  all  the  human  race, 
Farewell — life's  evanescent  dream  for  thee  is  o'er; 

A  nation's  overtasking  toils  and  cumbrous  cares 
Shall  press  thy  brow  and  vex  thy  heart  no  more. 

We  need  no  marble  bust  or  sculptured  clay, 

Thy  treasured  glory,  thy  benignant  fame  to  keep; 

Resplendent  honors  cluster  round  thy  name, 

And  thy  untimely  end  a  nation's  tears  shall  weep. 

Farewell,  pure  spirit,  freedom's  champion  thou, 
Endearing  memories,  and  emotions  cling 

Around  thy  fate,  while  ages  yet  untold 

Their  offerings  to  thy  hallowed  shrine  will  bring. 

Time  shall  grow  old  and  nations  fade  away, 

And  many  names  upon  fame's  scroll  now  traced, 

Forgot  shall  be,  as  if  they  ne'er  had  been, 
But  thy  illustrious  record  cannot  be  erased. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LTXCOLN.  281 

Thy  name  shall  live  of  martyr'd  heroes  chief, 
Columbia's  children  garner  by  thy  honored  dust, 

While  angel  watchers — heaven's  embattled  hosts, 
Shall  guard  with  jealous  care  the  sacred  trust. 


By    Mrs.   L.   M.   WILLIAMS. 

T^ATHER  of  light  and  love ! 

I  ° 

Thou,  God !  who  reign'st  above, 

Parent  supreme ! 
To  Thee  our  wishes  tend, 
Lowly  our  spirits  bend, 
Our  Father,  and  our  Friend, 

Guide  Thou  our  theme. 

Protect  us  by  Thy  power, 
In  this  our  dark'ning  hour  : 

Still,  Thou,  our  fears. 
Our  nation's  chief  laid  low — 
Our  hearts,  with  grief,  o'erflow. 
And  swell  with  deep'ning  woe, 

A  nation's  tears. 

At  freedom's  shrine  we  bow ; 
Bending  in  suppliance  now, 

Thy  blessing  crave. 
Accept,  great  God  !  our  King ! 
The  sacrifice  we  bring; 
One  true  heart  offering, 

Our  country  save ! 

24  * 


282  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

God!  bless  our  native  land. 
Guide  its  victorious  band 

In  paths  of  peace. 
Let  no  discordant  sound 
Within  oui'  hearts  be  found. 
But  truth  and  love  abound. 

Till  time  shall  cease. 


ANONYMOUS. 

TJUSHED  to-day  are  sounds  of  gladness 

From  the  mountain  to  the  sea, 
And  the  plaintive  voice  of  sadness 
Rises,  mighty  God,  to    Thee. 

Freedom  claimed  another  martyr ; 

Heaven  receives  another  saint; 
Who  are  we,  Thy  will  to  question  ? 

Lord,  we  weep  without  complaint. 

May  we,  to  Thy  wisdom  bowing, 
Own  Thy  love  in  this  dark  spell. 

While,  with  tears,  a  mighty  nation, 
Buries  one  they  loved  so  well. 

And  0  Thou !  who  took  our  leader. 

With  the  promised  land  in  view, — 
While  on  Pisgah's  height  we  leave  him, 

Lead  us,  Lord,  the  Jordan  through. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  283 


By  NATHAN  UPHAM. 

H^OLL!  toll  the  solemn  bell! 

A  great,  good  man  is  dead ! 
The  nation  loves  him  well, 

And  bitter  tears  are  shed ; 
O'er  all  the  land,  from  wave  to  wave, 
Will  millions  mourn  the  untimely  grave 

Toll!  toll  the  solemn  bell! 

Enshroud  the  flag  in  gloom  ! 
Can  words  the  anguish  tell, 

Or  sunshine  gild  the  tomb? 
O'er  all  the  land,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Weep  !  lovers  of  fair  liberty ! 

Toll!  toll  the  solemn  bell! 

We  gaze  on  his  dead  face; 
We  feel  his  funeral  knell 

A  burning,  deep  disgrace. 
O'er  all  the  land,  from  gulf  to  lake, 
Will  slumbering  justice  now"  awake ! 

Toll!  toll  the  solemn  bell! 

We  lay  him  sadly  down ! 
God  knew  his  virtues  well, 

And  set  the  martyr-crown ! 
O'er  all  the  land  we  weep  to-day — 
Yet  angels  bore  that  soul  away! 


284  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


ANONYMOUS. 

A  THOU !  who  through  the  desert  wilds 
^     Thy  chosen  people  once  did  lead — 
Who  brought  them  safe  to  Horeb's  rock, 
And  manna  gave  in  hour  of  need. 

Be  with  us  now,  and  hear  the  cry 
That  rises  from  our  stricken  land ; 

Oh  !  lay  Thy  rod  of  judgment  by — 
In  mercy  stay  Thy  chastening  hand ! 

The  pilot  from  our  "  Ship  of  State " 

In  evil  hour  away  is  torn — 
Oh !  who  shall  guide  her  on  her  course 

As  through  the  foaming  waves  she's  borne '{ 

i 

The  staff  on  which  we  fondly  leaned, 

0  Father !  now,  alas,  is  broke : 
We  own  Thy  goodness,  power  and  love, 

But  yet  we  weep  the  afflictive  stroke. 

The  nation  mourns  the  nation's  loss — 
Our  hearts  are  bowed  in  deepest  grief; 

With  tear-dimmed  eyes  we  turn  to  Thee — 
For  Thou  alone  canst  bring  relief! 

We  humbly  bow  before  Thy  throne — 
Thy  aid  and  blessing  we  implore — 

Our  bleeding  country  heal  and  save, 
And  peace  and  union  yet  restore. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  285 

And  grant,  that  though,  like  one  of  old. 
Our  chief  has  laid  his  "  mantle "  by — 

Upon  some  other  it  may  fall, 

And  fit  him  for  his  mission  high ! 


ANONYMOUS. 

,  ye  bells,  a  solemn  dirge, 
Earth  shall  join  the  sad  refrain; 
And  the  sea's  remotest  surge, 

Moan  for  freedom's  champion  slain. 

Veil  thy  radiance,  glowing  sun ; 

Moon  and  stars,  go  out  in  gloom ; 
Weep,  ye  skies,  for  hopes  undone, — 

Weep  a  kingly  patriot's  doom. 

Banner  worshipped  by  the  brave — 
Fairest  ensign  of  the  free, 

With  thy  sable  emblems  wave, 
Drooping  low  and  mournfully. 

Oh,  ye  vales  and  verdant  isles! 

How  can  beauty  gild  ye  so? 
Why  should  ye  be  dres'd  in  smiles, 

When  our  human  hearts  o'erflow? 

Is  it  some  celestial  beam 

From  the  gates  of  Paradise  ? 

Is  it  Heaven's  refulgent  gleam, 
Half  revealed  to  mortal  eyes? 


286  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Wide  unfold  your  scenes  of  light, 
Glorious  realm,  no  pen  can  paint. 

Welcome  him,  ye  throngs  in  white, 
Crown  him  hero,  MARTYR,  SAINT. 


By   D.  AMBROSE  DAVIS. 

,  huild  a  monument  to  him, 
And  let  it  tower  to  heaven ; 
Praise  God  that  for  His  noble  child 
The  manifest  is  given. 

Ay.  build  the  structure  for  all  time, 

Nor  give  it  any  bound; 
Let  not  its  summit  be  the  sky, 

Or  basis  be  the  ground; 

But  rear  it  to  the  sacred  realms, 
Where  angel  spirits  roam, 

And  let  the  sparkling  gems  of  worth 
Illuminate  its  dome. 

Then  hang  from  heaven's  apex  down 

An  everlasting  scroll, 
And  let  the  glowing  emblem  be 

The  light  of  a  martyr  "soul ! 


MEMOliY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  287 


TO  THE   NATION. 

By   E.   T.  S. 

chief  is  dead !     Ay,  bow  thy  head 
And  weep  thy  bitter  tears; 
He's  loved  thee  so,  through  weal  and  woe, 
And  calmed  thy  wildest  fears. 

A  nation  weeps.     A  hero  sleeps 

Unmindful  of  their  grief. 
0  God!  be  just;  above  the  dust 

Of  our  noble  patriot  chief. 

Oh,  help  us  feel  that  Thou  canst  heal 

The  direst,  sorest  wounds; 
Be  Thou  our  stay,  and  help  us  pray, 
"  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 

By  CORA  LISLE. 

C\  GOD  !  can  it  indeed  be  true, 
^     Is  traitor's  work  so  low, 
That  even  our  pure  and  honest  chief 
Must  fall  beneath  its  blow? 

MURDERED  !     Alas,  too  true, 

Iscariot's  spirit  still 
Doth  rule  the  hearts  of  men, 

To  do  Satan's  own  will. 


288  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

A  murdered  President. 

The  land  listens  with  dread. 
To  the  awful  tale  of  death. 

From  town  to  village  spread. 

Our  PRESIDENT,  throughout  the  length 
Of  the  past  four  years  of  war. 

How,  ever  onward,  for  the  best. 
The  nation's  cause  he  bore. 

Slain  in  the  midst  of  those 
Who  loved  to  speak  his  name. 

Who  faithful  guardians  were, 
Of  his  unspotted  fame. 

The  cup  of  bitterness  seems  full. 

Tears  spring  from  many  an  eye 
That,  save  for  such  a  grief  as  thi>. 

Would  ever  have  been  dry. 

The  name  of  LINCOLN  is  engraved 

In  millions  of  loyal  hearts, 
Bright  with  the  noble  memory 

Which  his  record  imparts. 

By   R.   B.   W. 

ATJR  country's  favorite,  killed  by  murderous  hand, 
"  In  deepest  grief  has  plunged  our  loyal  land, 
Gone  from  all  cares  of  state  to  his  last  rest, 
Since  WASHINGTON,  the  purest  and  the  best; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  289 

But  ho  shall  sink  not  in  oblivion's  waves 
Who  struck  the  shackles  from  a  race  of  slaves ! 

A  thousand  virtues  his,  and  but  one  fault, 
And  that  by  many  deem'd  what  does  exalt 
The  mind — the  having  too  much  mercy  blent 
With  justice, — for  he  was  too  lenient; 
His  the  large  heart,  too  ready  to  forgive — 
O,  noble  LINCOLN  !  hast  thou  ceased  to  live  ? — 
Alas !  the  doleful  tidings  are  too  true, 
Th'  assassin's  hand  thy  life-blood  did  imbrue ! 

And  did  God  give  us  him  to  work  His  plan, 
To  free  a  race,  give  equal  rights  to  man, 
To  guide  a  country  through  a  sea  of  blood, 
Conciliate  the  weak,  assure  the  good : 
This  done,  and  light  just  breaking  into  day, 
Was  it  God's  will  to  call  him  thus  away  ? — 
Inscrutable  and  wise  his  every  plan  and  way ! 

Oh  ye.  who,  ere  this,  have  contemned  the  one 
Who  now  lays  low  with  all  his  trials  done, 
And  who  have  sympathized  with  Slavery's  power 
And  traitors,  in  our  country's  darkest  hour, — 
Can  ye  not  see  that  barbarism  and  wrong, 
That  murder,  treason,  ignorance,  belong 
To  that  curst  institution  you  uphold, 
And  whose  dark  record,  who  can  all  unfold? 
Oh !  can  you  witness  this  ite  latest  stain 
And  still  for  it  your  sympathies  retain? 
If  so,  oh  !  never  hope  heaven's  blissful  realm  to  gain  ! 
25  N 


* 

290  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

0,  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  !  martyr  to  the  cause 
Of  justice,  liberty,  and  righteous  laws  ! 
Adored,  revered,  by  nations,  —  by  the  earth, 
His  name  shall  live,  his  wisdom  and  his  worth, 
And  unborn  hosts  shall  bless  the  day  that  gave  him  birth  ! 

And  when  shall  cease  to  give  its  light  the  sun, 
When  life  and  earth  and  time  their  race  have  run. 
Then  LINCOLN'S  fame  will  cease,  —  with  that  of  WASH- 
INGTON ! 


By    ENOLA. 

rPHE  badge,  the  drapery  of  woe 

Floats  out  upon  the  air; 
And  it  is  no  unmeaning  show. 
For  grief  is  everywhere. 

When,  like  the  wind,  from  shore  to  short-. 

The  fearful  tidings  ran, 
It  pierced  the  nation  to  its  core. 

And  wrung  a  cry  of  pain. 

Each  household  felt  as  if  a  friend 
Had  from  its  midst  been  torn; 

They  see  "  one  vacant  chair,"  and  bend 
To  weep,  and  sigh,  and  mourn. 

There's  scarce  a  house  in  all  the  land 

But  wears  the  badge  of  woe, 
There's  not  a  heart  however  hard 

But  feels  the  dreadful  blow. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  291 

Oh,  never  did  the  world  before 

Behold  such  wide-spread  grief, 
Hard  hearts  by  sin  all  crusted  o'er, 

Have  wept  to  find  relief. 

And  softer,  purer  hearts  will  keep 
•;  The  memory  of  the  just," 
And  he  shall  live,  who  is  asleep 
Low  in  the  silent  dust. 

No,  never  can  they  make  him  die, 

The  brave,  good  man  we  mourn, 
Forever  in  the  nation's  heart 

His  image  will  be  borne. 

Wherever  truth  and  justice  reign, 

And  right  prevails  o'er  wrong, 
And  honesty  is  loved,  his  name 

Will  live  the  great  among. 

We  would  have  had  him  live  to  reap 

A  harvest  in  the  land; 
We  hoped,  when  peace  should  smile  again, 

To  grasp  his  honest  hand. 

But  He  who  rules  in  all  the  earth, 

Has  interposed  His  will — 
Oh  !  may  He  calm  our  smitten  hearts, 

And  whisper,  "  Peace,  be  still." 


292  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

From  the  LONDON    "FUN." 

nPHE  hand  of  an  assassin,  glowing  red, 

•*•      Shot  like  a  firebrand  through  the  western  sky; 

And  stalwart  Abraham  Lincoln  now  is  dead! 

Oh!  felon  heart  that  thus  could  basely  dye 
The  name  of  southerner  with  murderous  gore ! 

Could  such  a  spirit  come  from  mortal  womb? 
And  what  possessed  it  that  not  heretofore 

It  linked  its  coward  mission  with  the  tomb  ? 
Lincoln!  thy  fame  shall  sound  through  many  an  age, 

To  prove  that  genius  lives  in  humble  birth; 
Thy  name  shall  sound  upon  historic  page, 

For  'midst  thy  faults  we  all  esteemed  thy  worth. 
Gone  art  thou  now !  no  more  'midst  angry  heat 

Shall  thy  calm  spirit  rule  the  surging  tide, 
Which  rolls  where  two  contending  nations  meet, 

To  still  the  passion  and  to  curb  the  pride. 
Nations  have  looked  and  seen  the  fate  of  kings, 

Protectors,  emperors,  and  such  like  men ; 
Behold  the  man  whose  dirge  all  Europe  sings, 

Now  past  the  eulogy  of  mortal  pen  ! 
He,  like  a  lighthouse,  fell  athwart  the  strand ; 
Let  curses  rest  upon  the  assassin's  hand! 

ANONYMOUS. 

rPHERE'S  a  burden  of  grief  on  the  breezes  of  spring, 
••-    And  a  song  of  regret  from  the  bird  on  its  wing; 
There's  a  pall  on  the  sunshine  and  over  the  flowers, 
And  a  shadow  of  graves  on  these  spirits  of  ours; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  293 

For  a  star  hath  gone  out  from  the  night  of  our  sky, 
On  whose  brightness  we  gazed  as  the  war-cloud   roll'd 

by; 

So  tranquil,  and  steady,  and  clear  were  its  beams, 
That  they  fell  like  a  vision  of  peace  on  our  dreams. 

A  heart  that  we  knew  had  been  true  to  our  weal, 
And  a  hand  that  was  steadily  guiding  the  wheel; 
A  name  never  tarnished  by  falsehood  or  wrong, 
That  had  dwelt  in  our  hearts  like  a  soul-stirring  song; 
Ah  !  that  pure,  noble  spirit  has  gone  to  its  rest, 
And  the  true  hand  lies  nerveless  and  cold  on  his  breast ; 
But  the  name  and  the  memory — these  never  will  die, 
But  grow  brighter  and  dearer  as  ages  go  by. 

Yet  the  tears  of  a  nation  fall  over  the  dead, 

Such  tears  as  a  nation  before  never  shed; 

For  our  cherished  one  fell  by  a  dastardly  hand, 

A  martyr  to  truth  and  the  cause  of  the  land; 

And  a  sorrow  has  surged,  like  the  waves  to  the  shore, 

When  the  breath  of  the  tempest  is  sweeping  them  o'er. 

And  the  heads  of  the  lofty  and  lowly  have  bowed, 

As  the  shaft  of  the  lightning  sped  out  from  the  cloud. 

Not  'gathered,  like  Washington,  home  to  his  rest, 
When  the  sun  of  his  life  was  far  down  in  the  West; 
But  stricken  from  earth  in  the  midst  of  his  years, 
With  the  Canaan  in  view,  of  his  prayers  and  his  tears. 
And  the  people,  whose  hearts  in  the  wilderness  failed, 
Sometimes,  when  the  star  of  their  promise  had  paled, 
25  * 


294  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    T 

Now,  stand  by  his  side  on  the  mount  of  his  fame. 
And  yield  him  their  hearts  in  a  grateful  acclaim. 

Yet  there  on  the  mountain  our  leader  must  die, 
With  the  fair  land  of  promise  spread  out  to  his  eye; 
His  work  is  accomplished,  and  what  he  has  done 
Will  stand  as  a  monument  under  the  sun; 
And  his  name,  reaching  down  through  the  ages  of  time. 
Will  still  through  the  years  of  eternity  shine — 
Like  a  star,  sailing  on  through  the  depths  of  the  blue, 
On  whose  brightness  we  gaze  every  evening  anew. 

His  white  tent  is  pitched  on  the  beautiful  plain, 
Where  the  tumult  of  battle  comes  never  again ; 
Where  the  smoke  of  the  war-cloud  ne'er  darkens  the  air, 
Nor  falls  on  the  spirit  a  shadow  of  care. 
The  songs  of  the  ransomed  enrapture  his  ear, 
And  he  heeds  not  the  dirges  that  roll  for  him  here; 
In  the  calm  of  his  spirit,  so  strange  and  sublime, 
He  is  lifted  far  over  the  discords  of  time. 

Then  bear  home  gently,  great  son  of  the  West — 

'Mid  her  fair  blooming  prairies  lay  Lincoln  to  rest; 

From  the  nation  who  loved  him,  she  takes  to  her  trust, 

And  will  tenderly  garner  the  consecrate  dust. 

A  Mecca  his  grave  to  the  people  shall  be, 

And  a  shrine  evermore  for  the  hearts  of  the  free. 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  295 


By    S.  C.   MERCER. 

OOFT  breathe  the  vernal  winds,  the  sky  is  fair, 
^  And  April's  fragrance  scents  the  dewy  air. 
Yon  heaven  looks  down  on  earth  with  eyes  as  mild 
As  a  young  mother's  on  her  sleeping  child, 
Jealous  lest  aught  should  break  her  infant's  calm, 
And  lulling  its  soft  slumbers  with  a  psalm. 
So  soft,  so  holy,  comes  the  forest  hymn, 
From  yon  fair  hill-tops,  misty,  blue  and  dim, 
While  war's  discordant  tumult  seems  to  cease 
In  the  sweet  music  of  returning  peace. 

Yet  where  the  fount  of  joy  in  crystal  springs, 
Some  venomed  asp  its  rankling  poison  flings; 
And  where  the  violets  shed  their  fragrant  breath 
The  night-shade  pours  the  blistering  dews  of  death. 

What  bloody  phantom  with  a  brow  of  wrath 

Stalks  in  the  van  of  our  triumphal  path, 

And  o'er  our  banners  flings  a  funeral  veil, 

Till  heaven  grows  black  and  mortal  cheeks  grow  pale  ? 

'Twas  in  the  halls  of  mirth,  a  gala  night, 

Bright  lamps  o'er  joyous  thousands  shed  their  light, 

The  nation's  father  sat  amid  the  throng, 

llelaxed  his  brow  and  heard  the  festal  song; 

He  dreams  not  of  conspiracy,  nor  sees 

Above  his  head  the  sword  of  Damocles; 

Wide  opes  the  sepulchre  its  marble  jaws, 

All  nature  seems  to  make  a  breathless  pause; 


296  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

The  deadly  aim  is  made — the  death-shot  flies, 
And  freedom's  martyr  passes  to  the  skies. 

0,  statesman,  hero,  patriot,  friend,  and  sire, 

Now  the  pale  tenant  of  a  funeral  pyre, 

Whose  red  right  hand  four  years  has  held  the  rod. 

The  minister  of  freedom  and  of  God, 

Yet  with  the  rod  the  blooming  olive  held. 

While  the  dark  deluge  of  rebellion  swelled 

And  thundered  round  our  ark — an  argosy 

More  precious  than  the  jewels  of  the  sea. 

And  still  with  outstretched  arms  essayed  to  save 

The  ship-wrecked  seamen  from  the  yawning  wave — 

Thy  love  was  strong  as  woman's — who,  like  thee, 

Their  interceding  angel  now  shall  be? 

A  genial  wit,  a  homely  native  sense, 

Nearer  to  truth  than  studied  eloquence ; 

A  quiet  courage  to  defend  the  right, 

And  leave  to  heaven  the  issue  of  the  fight; 

A  will  of  adamant,  which  seemed  to  be 

The  very  flower  of  maiden  modesty; 

A  conscience,  holding  truth  of  greater  worth 

Than  all  the  crowns  and  treasures  of  the  earth ; 

A  love,  whose  strong  affections  seemed  to  bind. 

In  one  the  happiness  of  all  mankind; 

These  were  the  jewels  whose  celestial  flame 

Shall  burn  with  quenchless  glow  round  LINCOLN'S  name ; 

The  virtues  which  shall  make  his  memory  dear. 

While  justice  reigns  in  yon  eternal  sphere. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  297 

And  millions  shall  lament,  with  honest  grief, 

The  people's  friend,  and  freedom's  fallen  chief; 

The  huntsman  shall  forget  the  eager  chase, 

And  pause  to  wipe  his  weather-beaten  face; 

The  daring  sailor  on  the  distant  sea, 

Shall  shed  a  tear-drop  to  his  memory; 

The  widow's  tears  shall  quench  her  cottage  fire, 

The  soldier's  orphan  mourn  his  second  sire. 

There  needs  no  glittering  trappings  of  the  tomb, 

Nor  martial  dirge,  nor  hearse  with  nodding  plume, 

To  tell  their  grief;  but  words  devoid  of  art, 

Show  how  this  stroke  has  pierced  the  nation's  heart. 

Precious  the  tears  shall  be,  the  nation  weeps, 

And  sacred  be  the  sod  where  LINCOLN  sleeps. 

His  fame  shall  be  the  jewel  of  the  West, 

Like  a  rich  pearl  on  beauty's  throbbing  breast. 

Mourn,  0,  ye  mountains !- — altars  of  the  sky — 

Fit  monuments  of  him  who  cannot  die; 

Mourn,  loud  Atlantic !  let  thy  thunder-dirge 

Chant  the  sad  requiem  with  Pacific's  surge. 

Mourn,  0,  New  England !  on  thy  granite  base ; 

Mourn,  Illinois,  thy  desolate  dwelling-place; 

Kentucky  mourn !  thy  second  God-like  son 

Sleeps  in  the  dust,  life's  duty  nobly  done; 

Mourn,  Tennessee !  the  hero  of  the  age 

Sleeps  with  the  Lion  of  the  Hermitage; 

Chanted  the  melancholy  song  shall  be, 

By  all  thy  streams  which  hasten  to  the  sea, 

While  Nashville's  echoing  wall  of  cedared  hills, 

Writh  mournful  cadence  all  the  valley  fills. 


298  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By    C.   H.   WE8B. 

rpHE  pines  are  green  on  Shasta, 

No  palm-tree's  leaf  is  sere; 
But  a  noble  oak  has  fallen 

In  this  springtime  of  the  year. 
You  may  journey  to  the  sunset, 

And  from  sunset  to  the  sea, 
But  you'll  find  not  in  the  forest, 

So  stout,  so  brave  a  tree. 

It  stood  the  wrath  of  winter, 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snow; 
And  now  the  axe  of  treason 

Has  laid  the  good  tree  low. 
It  was  hard  that  in  the  springtime, 

When  the  blue  was  in  the  sky, 
And  the  winter's  worst  was  weathered, 

This  good,  stout  tree  should  die. 

But,  though  the  hands  of  traitors 

Have  hewn  their  murderous  will; 
Though  the  monarch  tree  lies  prostrate, 

It  all  is  live  oak  still! 
And  will  furnish  a  firm  keelson 

For  our  noble  Ship  of  State, 
And  a  scaffold  where  foul  traitors 

Shall  meet  with  traitors'  fate. 

Rest,  Lincoln,  in  thy  glory; 

Though  slain  by  stealth  you  die. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  299 

Up,  yonder,  'niong  the  stars, 

They  ask  not  how,  but  why. 
A  more  than  warrior's  wreath, 

A  more  than  martyr's  crown, 
Thy  foes  pressed  on  thy  brow — 

Rest  in  thy  great  renown  ! 

San  Francisco. 

ANONYMOUS. 

rPHE  bells  rang  out 

A  hoarse  alarum  from  each  brazen  throat, 
A  hasty  summons  in  each  jangling  note, 
Four  years  ago  this  sacred  Easter-tide, 
Filling  the  land  with  consternation  wide, 
Telling  of  outraged  law  and  war  begun, 
And  all  the  loyal  myriads  as  one 
Gave  back  a  shout ! 

Again  they  rang, 

Once  'neath  a  chilly,  gray,  autumnal  sky, 

Once  when  midsummer's  sun  was  throned  on  high. 

Calling  old  men  and  boys  to  meet  the  foe, 

And  torn  with  doubts  and  fears,  we  saw  them  go, — 

The  battle  raging  at  our  very  door, 

Our  peaceful  hills  scared  by  the  cannon's  roar 

With  iron  clang. 

One  week  ago 

They  rang  with  joyful  peal  at  dead  of  night, 

And  every  window  blazed  with  sudden  light, 


300  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Victorious  salvoes  thundered  in  our  ears, 
Triumphant  shouts  were  choked  by  thankful  tears, 
While  in  the  silent  spaces  far  above, 
Were  heard  the  pinions  of  th'  Eternal  Dove 
Desceudinc;  slow. 


To-day  they  toll: 

Amazed  with  grief  and  horror  is  the  land — 
Dead  ! — dead  ! — and  slain  by  an  assassin's  hand  ! 
Dead — slain — the  wisest,  humblest,  bravest,  best, 
Most  Christian   chief  a  people  e'er  possessed ! 
Twice  consecrated,  twice  the  nation's  choice, 
In  sorrow  and  in  prayer  it  lifts  its  voice — 
God  keep  his  soul ! 

0  martyred  head ! 

So  long  with  heaviest  care  and  thought  oppressed, 

0  heart  divine  within  a  human  breast, 

Ye  are  at  peace !     God  granted  you  to  know 

Your  labor  crowned  and  perfect  here  below, 

And  now  your  toil  is  o'er,  and  humbly  we 

Own  all  the  mercy  of  His  strange  decree 

And  mandate  dread. 


But  ye — accursed! 

Ye  who  have  robbed  us  of  our  hope  and  guide, 

Look  to  yourselves!     In  all  the  whole  world  wide 

Lives  not  another  who  can  step  between 

You  and  your  retribution,  or  can  screen 


MEMORY   OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  301 

Your  caitiff  heads  from  Judgment's  lifted  arm. 

Ye  pierced  the  hand  that  sheltered  you  from  harm; 

No  mediator  now  stands  in  the  path — 

The  nation's  vengeance,  justice,  grief  and  wrath 

May  do  their  worst. 

^KJ&KO* 

From    MACMILUAN'S    MAGAZINE,   England. 

T  INCOLN !     When  men  would  name  a  man 

Just,  unperturbed,  magnanimous, 
Tried  in  the  lowest  seat  of  all, 

Tried  in  the  chief  seat  of  the  house — 

Lincoln !  When  men  would  name  a  man 
Who  wrought  the  great  work  of  his  age, 

Who  fought  and  fought  the  noblest  fight, 
And  marshalled  it  from  stage  to  stage, 

Victorious,  out  of  dusk  and  dark, 

And  into  dawn  and  on  till  day, 
Most  humble  when  the  paeans  rang, 

Least  rigid  when  the  enemy  lay 

Prostrated  for  his  feet  to  tread — 

This  name  of  Lincoln  will  they  name, 

A  name  revered,  a  name  of  scorn, 
Of  scorn  to  sundry,  not  to  fame. 

Lincoln,  the  man  who  freed  the  slave ; 

Lincoln  whom  never  self  enticed; 
Slain  Lincoln,  worthy  found  to  die 

A  soldier  of  his  captain  Christ. 

20    . 


302  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 


By  JOHN   NICHOL. 

AN  end  at  last !     The  echoes  of  the  war — 
The  weary  war  beyond  the  Western  waves — 
Die  in  the  distance.     Freedom's  rising  star 
Beacons  above  a  hundred  thousand  graves; 

The  graves  of  heroes  who  have  won  the  fight, 
Who  in  the  storming  of  the  stubborn  town 

Have  rung  the  marriage  peal  of  might  and  right. 
And  scaled  the  cliffs  and  cast  the  dragon  down. 

Paeans  of  armies  thrill  across  the  sea, 

Till  Europe  answers — "  Let  the  struggle  cease, 

The  bloody  page  is  turned ;  the  next  may  be 
For  ways  of  pleasantness  and  paths  of  peace !" 

A  golden  morn — a  dawn  of  better  things — 
The  olive-branch — clasping  of  hands  again — 

A  noble  lesson  read  to  conquered  kings — 

A  sky  that  tempests  had  not  scoured  in  vain. 

This  from  America  we  hoped  and  him 

Who  ruled  her  "  in  the  spirit  of  his  creed." 

Does  the  hope  last  when  all  our  eyes  are  dim, 
As  history  records  her  darkest  deed? 

The  pilot  of  his  people  through  the  strife, 

With  his  strong  purpose  turning  scorn  to  praise, 

E'en  at  the  close  of  battle  reft  of  life, 
And  fair  inheritance  of  quiet  days. 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  303 

Defeat  and  triumph  found  him  calm  and  just, 
He  showed  how  clemency  should  temper  power, 

And  dying  left  to  future  times  in  trust 
The  memory  of  his  brief  victorious  hour. 

O'ermastered  by  the  irony  of  fate, 

The  last  and  greatest  martyr  of  his  cause ; 

Slain  like  Achilles  at  the  Scaean  gate, 

He  saw  the  end,  and  fixed  "the  purer  laws." 

May  these  endure  and,  as  his  work,  attest 
The  glory  of  his  honest  heart  and  hand — 

The  simplest,  and  the  bravest,  and  the  best — 
The  Moses  and  the  Cromwell  of  his  land. 

Too  late  the  pioneers  of  modern  spite, 
Awe-stricken  by  the  universal  gloom, 

See  his  name  lustrous  in  Death's  sable  night, 
And  offer  tardy  tribute  at  his  tomb. 

But  we  who  have  been  with  him  all  the  while, 
Who  knew  his  worth,  and  loved  him  long  ago, 

Rejoice  that  in  the  circuit  of  our  isle 

There  is  no  room  at  last  for  Lincoln's  foe. 

London  Spectator. 
By    L.   M.   DAWES. 

A  LL  our  land  is  draped  in  mourning, 
•*~^     Hearts  are  bowed  and  strong  men  weep; 
For  our  loved,  our  noble  leader, 

Sleeps  his  last,  his  dreamless  sleep — 


304  POETICAL    TRIBUTES   TO    THE 

Gone  forever,  gone  forever, 

Fallen  by  a  traitor's  hand; 
Tho'  preserved  his  dearest  treasure, 

Our  redeem'd  beloved  land. 
Rest  in  peace. 

Thro'  our  night  of  bloody  struggle, 

Ever  dauntless,  firm  and  true, 
Bravely,  gently  forth  he  led  us, 

Till  the  inorn  burst  on  our  view — 
Till  he  saw  the  day  of  triumph, 

Saw  the  field  our  heroes  won; 
Then  his  honor'd  life  was  ended, 

Then  his  glorious  work  was  done. 
Rest  in  peace. 

When  from  mountain,  hill  and  valley, 

To  their  homes  our  brave  boys  come, 
When  with  welcome  notes  we  greet  them  ; 

Song,  and  cheer,  and  pealing  drum ; 
When  we  miss'd  our  loved  ones  fallen, 

When  to  weep  we  turn  aside; 
Then  for  him  our  tears  shall  mingle, 

He  has  suffered — he  has  died. 
Rest  in  peace. 

Honor'd  leader,  long  and  fondly 
Shall  thy  mem'ry  cherished  be; 

Hearts  shall  bless  thee  for  their  freedom, 
Hearts  unborn  shall  sigh  for  thee; 


MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  305 

He  who  gave  thee  might  and  wisdom, 

Gave  thy  spirit  sweet  release; 
Farewell  father,  friend  and  guardian, 

Rest  forever,  rest  in  peace. 
Rest  in  peace. 


By    Rev;  Dr.   D.   P.  GURLEY. 

TD  EST,  noble  martyr  !  rest  in  peace ; 

Rest  with  the  true  and  brave, 
Who,  like  thee,  fell  in  freedom's  cause, 
The  nation's  life  to  save. 

Thy  name  shall  live  while  time  endures, 

And  men  shall  say  of  thee, 
"  He  saved  his  country  from  its  foes, 
And  bade  the  slave  be  free." 

These  deeds  shall  be  thy  monument. 

Better  than  brass  or  stone; 
They  leave  thy  fame  in  glory's  light, 

Unrival'd  and  alone. 

This  consecrated  spot  shall  be 

To  freedom  ever  dear; 
And  freedom's  sons  of  every  race 

Shall  weep  and  worship  here. 

0  G-od !  before  whom  we,  in  tears, 

Our  fallen  chief  deplore; 
26  * 


306  POETICAL    TRIBUTES. 

Grant  that  the  cause,  for  which  he  died. 
May  live  forevermore. 


DOXOLOGY. 


To  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

The  God  whom  we  adore. 
Be  glory  as  it  was,  is  now. 

And  shall  be  evermore. 


THE    END 


o  /  < 


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